


Painted On My Soul (It Was Indelible)

by FrostedGemstones22



Series: Kings and Queens of Promise [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: BAMF Sansa Stark, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Joffrey Baratheon is His Own Warning, Letters, Post 8x06, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Queen Sansa, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Sansa Deserves A Happy Ending, Sansa-centric, The North Remembers (ASoIaF)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2020-03-30 23:08:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 42,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19037389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostedGemstones22/pseuds/FrostedGemstones22
Summary: After Bran is chosen as King and Sansa secures the North as an independent Kingdom, she has to go home and figure out exactly how to rule. No one ever told her it would be so lonely... until a particular newly-minted knight slips into her heart, so quickly, so softly, she doesn't even realize it.A collection of short snapshots in Sansa's life as Queen in the North intended to fix canon because we all know that Sansa deserves a goddamn happy ending. Very much Sansa-centric, and while romance is an important part, it's more about the choices Sansa makes going forward as she figures out how to balance the good of the North and her own healing and happiness.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is intended to be a tie-in/sequel to my fix-it Gendrya fic I posted a week or so ago called 'And Indeed There Will Be Time', in which Sansa has a Northern son but does not tell Arya who the father is. I asked the reviewers if they had any guesses.... 
> 
> And a lot of you correctly guessed Podrick! I'm not sure if it's because there are basically no options left or if this ship is about to get a lot bigger, but I'm seriously hoping it's the latter, since I've been on the Podsa train since early season 7. 
> 
> This is in line with *grumble, sigh* canon of the last episode and season (BUT I'M NOT HAPPY ABOUT IT) so here I am, again, trying to fix it. 
> 
> The title is from Lana Del Rey's 'Queen of Disaster'.
> 
> This will likely be about 25-30 chapters long. Some will be longer than others (this first one is rather short in comparison). At the moment I will update weekly unless I get really ahead in writing, but we'll see! 
> 
> You don't have to read the Gendrya fic to understand this one and vice versa.

_I_   


It was moons before Sansa returned to Winterfell. The day that Daenerys had been slain, Bran had come to her room and told her in that monotone voice that the queen was dead. Sansa had already readied the horses and summoned her guards to ride with her before she could think about what she was doing.

She’d asked Bran if he would like to come, for they could always ready a carriage for him.

Bran had just smiled at her, his face emotionless even with something like the curl of his lip, now looking foreign on his features. He’d just said, “It’s not quite my time,” and Sansa had left it at that.

She, truly, had no idea how to talk to him anymore.

By the time that Davos sent the letter out asking for the Lords and Ladies to come to Winterfell, Sansa was already halfway there. 

She recalled how once she’d cursed her family name and wished to be anything other than the traitor’s daughter. She recalled how she’d recanted it at the Vale for her safety, given it up to stay alive. She thought about how it had taken so long, but she’d just reclaimed it.

More importantly, Sansa had reclaimed her family. Arya, Jon, and even Bran. Sansa Stark would do anything for them. So, when she’d gotten the news that Arya was in the capitol and Jon was arrested, Sansa did not question leaving at all. 

After the whole event of it was said and done, and Bran- her baby brother, Bran, who she remembered the day he was born and how he’d come out squalling so loudly it had awoken Sansa from her sleep- was chosen as the new King, Sansa made preparations to return home. 

She had secured the North as an independent Kingdom. For the first time in so very long, Sansa felt as though she could finally rest. 

Peace had come, and her people would survive. 

 

_II_

 

Sansa returned home alone. She’d left alone, but returning home alone almost felt like a knife in her heart. All she’d done and Sansa was the last Stark at Winterfell. There was something about that idea that cut her deeper than anything else that had happened. 

When she had been young, the idea that all of her siblings would go off and only one of them would be at Winterfell was not strange to her. Jon would be with the Night’s Watch, Robb would rule after their father married to a Frey, Theon would have returned home, Sansa would be Queen in King’s Landing, Bran might be knighted somewhere, spirits willing Arya would have been married off to a Lord, and Rickon might have just celebrated his wedding. It used to excite her.

Sansa would have given anything for all of her family to come home with her right now, though. After all they’d been through, it felt cheapened that they couldn’t be by her side, despite the responsibilities on their shoulders. 

Her family is now scattered to the wind; Bran in the South as the King of all, Jon up on the Wall, and Arya sailing off into the West. Well, right now her sister is likely at Storm’s End, but the sentiment still stands. It’s nearly like it was months ago, with two key differences. One; Sansa is fairly certain where her siblings are at any given time and two; she has less fear that they might turn up dead. 

Life in itself is dangerous, she knows. There are no guarantees that any of them will live even when there is not a war raging or those that wish to serve their heads on a silver platter. 

The part of Sansa that is still a child wishes they were all coming back with her, where she could see them every day and know they were safe. 

She had to admit, she’d been disappointed when Ser Brienne had pulled her aside and told Sansa that Bran had asked her to stay on as a sword and shield for him. Bran had more enemies than Sansa had, and Sansa also would have the entire North with swords drawn for her. Brienne would be more useful in the Capitol, that was true. Sansa had grown up. She did not need Brienne protecting her anymore.

But it still made her ache. 

She’d been telling herself that at least Ser Brienne and Podrick would be making the journey home with her, but that wasn’t  _ their  _ home, was it? No, she could not fault them for this, and Sansa wished them both all the best in the world. 

They’d visit, Podrick had been quick to point out, for it was unlikely that she’d never see Bran again. 

So, Sansa rode home alone. 

Well, alone wasn't apt. She rode home with all of her bannermen that had followed Jon to fight in the last battle of the Great War, guiding them up the path back to where snow covered the ground. When the first hint of winter, that sharpness of something clean and cold, wafted to them over the breeze, Sansa nearly felt the relief that rippled through the crowds. So no, she was not alone in the very literal sense, but she was  _ lonely .  _

As she rode up to the gates, she was met with bows and murmurs of ‘Queen’. Word had preceded her, it seemed. 

“Let the men in, and find food for them,” Sansa said as she slid off her steed, stretching out the soreness in her muscles. 

“All, m’Lad-Queen?” A Cerywn asked her; a cousin, she thought. 

“Yes. They’ve traveled a long way and they fought for us. We’ll take stock tomorrow, but for tonight, give any hungry man a warm meal.” 

“Of course, your Queen, as you command,” He said, bowing twice, and Sansa left him to do so. 

Winterfell was still in shambles. They’d begun reparations, but the damage from the Long Night was present everywhere. 

It was with a jolt Sansa realized she’d be making all these decisions alone. For as much as Jon or Dany had frustrated her, it had been a second voice. It was only her now. 

Only her. 

Sansa let the uncertainty wash over her for a moment before she squared her shoulders and walked into the courtyard. 

 

_ III _

While she’d been ruling Winterfell before Jon had returned (but it had felt like hers in small moments), there was a marked difference between then and now. Then, she’d been holding her breath, always waiting for someone to come and take the title back. She’d been a placeholder, a bookmark, a finger held between two pages as she waited for the proper King to return. Now, it was official, decreed by the King of the Six Kingdoms, and it was almost magic. The realization that all this was actually hers, after her mild panic, seemed to spark through the halls, the tension and excitement buzzing on her skin. 

As she unpacked her items, she started to move toward her old bedroom, as she’d always slept. It was the one she’d inhabited since childhood, and there had been no place she’d wanted to sleep in more than that when she had returned with Littlefinger. There had been an unspeakable comfort in curling up with the blankets her mother had sewed for her as a child, laying and staring out the window she’d gazed upon hundreds if not thousands of times. 

“My Queen, should we take this to the Royal Suites?” 

Sansa blinked, looking down the hall to the right, to the room her parents used to sleep in. Everyone had holed back up in their old rooms upon returning too, moving by muscle memory and a desire to go back to something they knew. Even with all of the guests they’d entertained, there was an unspoken agreement between Jon and Sansa that no one would sleep in their parent’s room, not even Daenerys. It had sat untouched for years at this point, Sansa realized.

But it was where she should go. It wasn’t the biggest but had been the most central. Most importantly, it had been Ned and Catelyn's. It would send a powerful message. Sansa was not here as a clumsy child to stumble through her new rules, she was slipping seamlessly into her mother and father’s shoes to take the North into this new era. 

“Yes, of course,” She spoke, as though that had been her intention all along, “It might be a little dirty. I will be gathering things from my old room, and I would like my new room cleaned properly and ready by nightfall.” 

It still did feel strange to be commanding people, and even stranger to watch them nod and agree without question. 

Sansa was Queen now. Even if this is everything she’d wanted, it would take a second to get used to. 

  
_IV_

After five nights sleeping in the bed in her new room, the room that was once her parent’s, Sansa had decided upon something. It was entirely too large for one person. 

The first night, she’d stretched out in the space, marveled at the extra inches to sprawl, languished like a cat enjoying the sun and had had one of the most fitful nights of sleep of her life. It was after this, though, that the largeness of the bed began to truly weigh upon her, and Sansa was not quite as tickled with the extra room. It just made it so obvious that she was alone and there was no one curling up with her when the winds whipped against the windows. 

Sansa knew many things. She, above all, knew how to be a queen. This she had spent all of her years learning, watching others, and waiting. She knew how to run a household. She knew war tactics. She knew good literature. The one thing Sansa did not know much about at all was love. 

She had once been under the delusion that Joffrey was perfect, but it wasn’t long before that was whisked away. Ramsay may have been worse. She wasn’t lying when she told Tyrion that he had been the best of her husbands, but she had never loved him. She had admired him, had adored his intelligence, and could never repay him for the simple act of keeping her safe as his bride, but she had not loved him. Littlefinger had claimed to love her, but it had been all-consuming and manipulative. Sansa had not cried over his death. She didn’t know a lot, but she knew that wasn't what love was either. 

Sansa was fairly certain she’d never been in love, not in the right way.

There had been a moment when Theon had returned, and her heart had felt warm and her stomach had flipped inside of her, that she wondered if that’s what it was. When she’d hugged him, and his arms had wrapped around her, she had never wanted to let go. She’d been too afraid to say something, told herself that the next morning after the battle she’d tell him, but he’d died. 

And the only flicker of romantic affection Sansa had ever truly felt had died with him. 

Perhaps, she considered, it was for the best. Jon had loved Daenerys, though Sansa was still unsure as to why, and he’d killed her in the end. He was no better now than before he met her. Worse, in fact, as he was exiled to the Wall for the rest of his days. 

Bran had never loved anyone, or if he had once, he didn’t anymore. There had been a little hope, when Meera brought him back, that perhaps the pair would find solace in each other, for Sansa hoped one of her siblings to be happy. Meera had been dismissed at once, and that had been shot down. 

Out of all the impossible things, one of the most impossible was the fact that- of the four- Arya was the one most in love with the happiest of endings. 

It wasn’t hard to realize what had happened between her dear, wild sister and the newly-minted Baratheon. If not for the way that Arya blushed when he came into a room, it was the way their eyes undressed each other during meetings, the secret smiles shot across the council. It was the fact that Gendry had not ridden with Jon, but had left at once for King’s Landing when they woke up to Arya gone. It was the fact that Arya was in the Stormlands when she could have been anywhere in the world. It was the confirmation of it all when Arya admitted to Sansa that she was pretty sure she was in love with him, and after her journey, she’d be returning to him. 

Once, as a young girl, Sansa would have been jealous that her sister got everything she wanted from a man. Now, Sansa wished them the very best. One of her siblings deserved complete happiness. 

Sansa, one of the nights, arranged her pillows to lay by her side as she pretended that it was a husband, and wrapped her arms fully around it. Is this what that would feel like? 

 

_V_

The official coronation for Sansa was set a fortnight after arriving back at Winterfell. It would give the castle enough time to breathe. Her bannermen could return home to their wives and children and make it back. They could start to count their provisions and weren’t rushed to provide a detailed analysis of what needed to be done to re-fortify. Bran’s official coronation wouldn’t even be for a month or two, and while Sansa had expressed her best wishes for Bran with a raven, she was not going to go back to King’s Landing as much as she could help it.

Sansa gave most of the coronation details to others, having so much on her own plate to attend to every little thing, but there was one specific item she did not let anyone else near. 

While there were certainly talented maids that would have jumped at a chance to sew her dress, Sansa insisted on doing so herself.

Embroidery had been one of her greatest skills and hobbies so very long ago. Ever since she’d left for the Capitol the first time, Sansa hadn’t a chance to truly return to that again. There had always been something else to be done, some fear that kept her too preoccupied to take out fabrics and begin to thread it. 

Looking back on it, it was one of the few things she felt she had left that reminded her of her mother. Many of Sansa’s favorite childhood dresses had been made by Catelyn, right here in the halls that Sansa now walked. They hadn’t needed to send out for a dressmaker, her mother was very capable of creating beautiful dresses herself. While Septa Mordane had shown Sansa the basics of sewing and attempted to teach Arya, it had been her mother who had showed Sansa how to make delicate embroidered flowers or stunning stitching. The art and craft had been all her making. 

It was an ambitious undertaking, but Sansa found she had a lot of time on her hands. She found it hard to fall asleep of late, and not only because the bed felt like it was swallowing her with its size. More than that, Sansa was starting to feel overwhelmed with how far Winterfell had to go to mend itself. It seemed like it would never end, and then after that, she had to simply live. It made ruling as a co-pair seem much more desirable. 

She’d find help, she knew, advisors to take some of the weight off, but Sansa still could not sleep. 

She loved her people, and it all rested on her now. Any mistakes she made could really endanger her loyal followers. Sansa would not allow herself to fail. 

In the beginning, Sansa hadn’t been sure what sort of dress she could make. She’d burnt the candle down to stubs on her desk, drafting ideas and patterns. She’d drawn up something she thought perfect and then changed it a million times. 

_ What do I want this dress to express?  _

Sansa often found herself wishing for her family to be here, with her. She wanted the gentle guiding hand of her mother and the bravery of her father. She wanted the charm of Robb, the dedication of Jon, the wildness of Arya, the wiseness of Bran, and the youthfulness of Rickon. When she closed her eyes, fingers on the rough stone walls, she could almost imagine the laughter that once lit up her home, long before Joffrey had ever come to ruin their lives. It seemed impossible it would ever return to that, the horrors these walls had seen, but Sansa had to keep the faith it might. 

Her family was not there, but that didn’t mean their spirits weren’t. 

Sansa would have not made it this far, she considered, without her family. They were like ghosts in every corner of the hall, reminding Sansa of where she’d come from and where she was going. 

After that, the dress pattern came easily. 

She sewed little red Weirwood leaves to represent Bran, she fashioned a one-sided cloak for Arya, she choose a dark smoky black color of furs for Jon around her neck, she included delicate fish scales up and down the sleeves for her Tully mother, she sewed tufts of fur that were unruly like Rickon and his hair had been and finished it in grey for her Father. The crown was a wolf for Robb, the King before her, but also for Cersei. She may have despised the woman, and she did, but she learned so much from her. Without Cersei, it was unlikely she’d be here today, as the Queen of the North. Her corset wrapped around her was a shield as a protection from all the awful things she’d faced, and also a nod to Theon, like that breastplate he’d worn with pride the day he died. There was just a hint of feathers, for she had once been a Little Bird, Little Dove. She may be a hawk or falcon now, but she started somewhere. Everyone- even a master of kindness and loyalty and ruling like her father- had begun exactly where Sansa had. She embroidered the entire length of fabric in a subtle pattern similar to Margaery’s wedding gown. She’d watched it sewed, and loved it. Margaery had been her singular friend at King’s Landing, and to this day, Sansa wished she were still alive. 

Her dress was the culmination of everything that had brought Sansa to this point. 

When she put it on, it felt like her family was giving her one last embrace. As she ran her fingers over the totems for her siblings, she hoped she’d never lose everything they’d meant to teach her and that the equally hadn’t realized, but had become so important to her. 

Sansa was a Stark of the North, and the North remembers. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So pleased for the good response I've gotten from this so far! I hope you all continue to enjoy this! I have just as much fun writing it :) And, mostly, giving Sansa a happier ending...

_ VI _

 

“How would you like your hair, m’lady?” 

Sansa glanced at the reflection of the servant-girl as she combed through her silky fire-red hair. She paused dabbing on the rouge to her cheeks to consider the inquiry. While Sansa deliberated, the servant continued to run the brush down to the ends of the strands, waiting for instruction.

“Just brush it out until it shines, and nothing else,” Sansa said decisively. 

As a young girl, Sansa had been so envious of the fabulous curls that Rob had. She’d run her fingers through his hair and wished that her straight hair could have even a hint of the waviness that he had. There were moments when she was drying it, that it almost looked like it would curl. It always dried out without any hints of volume, however.

And oh, how Sansa had tried every trick to acquire those stunning curls that she wanted so bad. She’d had her ladies spin her hair around ribbon before bed for a hint of a bounce when she woke up. She’d stare at the perfect ringlets that her friends sported, and wish that she could have been born with the hair of a Stark since it was her Tully genes that gave her listless, boring hair in texture. 

“Are you sure? I can do a great many styles,” The servant girl asked uneasily, her smile faltering. 

Sansa was sure she could. They’d have to find more permanent maids for Sansa after she was officially crowned, of course. Sansa found herself, not for the first time, missing Shae terribly. 

This was a kitchen maid who had been chosen in the interim, for her ability to do everything from delicate plaits to complicated Southron styles. It was clear the girl thought Sansa believed she was unable to do so, and Sansa had asked for something no one could mess up for her sake. 

This was simply untrue. 

For as long as Sansa could recall, she’d worn the hairstyles of others. From the day that her hair was long enough to do anything with until she left for King’s Landing, she wore her hair like her mother. In King’s Landing, she emulated every South women, hoping that perhaps if she dressed her hair like them she’d understand how to be a better lady. When she’d rode to the Vale, she’d worn her hair like her aunt. Even when she’d returned to Winterfell, married to Ramsay, she’d tried to keep her hair tied up. Hair in a bun offered fewer places for Ramsay to grab. 

None of it had ever been Sansa, or it had never felt like hers. 

“Not even a braid or two?” The servant girl prompted. 

“No, just straight and brushed,” Sansa replied. 

“You look beautiful, Queen Sansa.” 

“I’m not Queen yet,” Sansa replied, smiling warmly at the girl as she turned. 

“But you are,” The girl replied, stepping back to untie the dress Sansa had finished this morning, “In the ways that matter. This is just for show, this big ceremony.” 

Sansa couldn’t fault her there. She probably could do without a coronation, but was it bad for Sansa to admit she wanted one? She wanted to have it be official, unquestionably, and she wanted to see her bannermen bow. Sansa knew herself well enough that she needed that affirmation. 

Two more girls waited outside of Sansa’s door to help carry the train. 

At the door of the Great Hall, Sansa paused for just a moment, inhaling. She allowed the girls to bustle around her, settling her robes and train and gown just right. She could hear the conversation of the bannermen outside the doors. 

“Whenever your ready, my Queen.” 

She walked slowly through the men. The sea parted for her like she was a goddess stepping down to earth. Above her, the swords created a walkway. The extensions of the men almost felt like branches on a tree, interlocking- metal upon metal- keeping her safe. 

Her throne was not as ostentatious as the Iron Throne, that no longer existed, but it was the seat her father had sat on for decades before her. When she sat down, a part of her felt very small compared to it, like how she’d slipped her tiny foot into her father’s boot when she was six and stumbled around laughing. 

Then, the crown was placed upon her head, and Sansa felt like this was exactly right for her. 

“To the Queen in the North!” 

The crows of the men and women all around her rushed to her, warming her heart. Looking out, it was true none of her family or familiar faces from the past couple moons were here. She would have been overjoyed if she even saw Brienne or Pod or Tyrion, but alas, they served a different Stark now. 

There was a second, just the most fleeting, where Sansa almost felt empty by the hole in her heart. 

Then, Sansa could have sworn she saw them. 

She wasn’t one to believe in ghost stories. She’d been furious when Theon and Robb and Jon would dare each other to tell a scarier tale during the cold winter nights, hating ideas of bloody men coming snapping at her toes. She’d lived through most of the horrors they’d japed about, so nothing much scared Sansa anymore. Still, she thought the idea of apparitions was just a little unbelievable. 

At that moment, she almost recanted that. 

She thought she saw her mother and father in the crowd, her mother crying and her father raising his sword to join the arched promise of fealty. She thought she glimpsed Rickon in a window ledge, having scampered up out of the stern watchful eye of their mother. She thought she spotted Theon shouting louder than any of them. She thought she felt Robb’s warm hands on her shoulders, and she swore he kissed the top of her head. 

_ We did it, Robb, we did it,  _ Sansa cried in her mind, blinking back tears. 

“No Sansa,” Robb’s voice carried ever so faintly on the breeze that made the candles in the room flicker, “You did.” 

 

_ VII _

 

“Is this who remains?” Sansa looked around the Great Hall, counting off the greater vassal houses sworn to her, her forehead wrinkling with concern. It was three days after her coronation and Sansa was not going to waste time restoring her land back to the glory it deserved. Part of that was making sure that her Lords and Ladies were all situated. She could have no supplies reaped until the bones of the houses were settled and people began to live again. 

“Many died during the battles, your grace,” Alys Karstark replied, head of the Karstark household. Sansa had begun to look toward the young girl as a blessedly familiar face, happy to see another female standing tall and taking charge. She would be disappointed when Alys would return to her own home, as she’d started to see the girl as a friend. Alys smiled at Sansa, a sad one at that. 

Sansa counted off the houses in her head. 

There were some that were extinct; House Mormont, House Umber, and thankfully House Bolton. Her heart still clenched thinking of both little Ned and Lyanna, felled in the war against the dead, who should be standing here to represent their respective houses. The gaping hole left by them was felt by everyone; empty chairs and forlorn faces. 

All three had forts lying abandoned. This would need to be remedied. 

There were still more spots empty.

She did not think Alys was lying; a great number had been killed. That did not excuse the gaps in her Great Hall. 

“Did all the Tallhearts perish?” Sansa asked, tilting her head. She had recalled seeing one of the Tallhearts put onto the pikes, killed during the battle, but she didn’t think the entire line had been decimated. 

“The eldest son, Brandon, died while he was a captive. The other son, Beren, died during the battle here,” Lord Glover said. 

Sansa tapped her chin in thought, her fingers creating a soft rhythmic pattern, “And their mother, Berena, did she too die?” 

“Well, no, your grace-,” 

“Then why is she not here?” Sansa asked firmly. There was a quiet silence that told her everything, “Your ruler is a Queen, you all do realize? I am sorry to have to say this out loud, especially since we named Alys as the Karstark head long ago, but any heir- male or female- will take the seat if it comes to them. Daughters inherit before uncles and nephews. Berena is the head of the Tallhearts. Now, with that in mind, how many of the houses have completely died out?” 

In the end, with some muttering and quiet discussion about a daughter or sister or mother taking hold of the titles, there were still five houses where the last heir had breathed their last breath. In addition to the three Sansa already was mourning- at least where it concerned the Umbers and the Mormonts- House Dormund and House Ryswell were also without anyone to claim their halls. 

“We will fill the voids that exist,” Sansa said, scribing the information as it was received, “Firstly, if there are any known bastards that hail from those five houses, you may present their names for me with consideration of legitimization. If there are none that anyone knows of, I would like to award some of the lesser bannermen who have been loyal to my family. I have some ideas in mind, but if anyone would like to offer up a lesser house that you feel deserves recognition, I would be pleased to take that into consideration. I hope that the next time we all must meet, all the seats of the North are filled.” 

Sansa stood, carefully rolling her parchment, “I will be in here again tomorrow to hear petitions. As of now, you are all free to leave.” 

She left without turning back. Once in her solar, she began to pen letters to the women that would be asked to take over their house seats, inviting them to Winterfell. She did not claim to know everything about running a house as a male would, but she knew enough. She did not want any of the women to feel like they were just waiting for the day another male heir was born. 

Sansa would teach them in her image, and bolster her Northern houses with girls who once perhaps thought their only goal in life was to marry. Sansa would offer them a different path. 

 

_ VIII _

 

_ Dear Queen Sansa, _

_ I hope this letter finds you in good health. I heard you had made it safely back to the North, and a part of me breaths easier knowing such. The word has spread that your coronation has happened, and King Bran has told us all that it was a good ceremony. It has been an adjustment going from protecting you and your sister to protecting your brother, but I am happy to serve the Starks until the end of my days.  _

_ If it has not already been brought to your attention, King Bran has decided to uphold my knighting that Ser Jamie bestowed upon me before the battle at Winterfell, and I could not have been more pleased. Going further, King Bran has asked me to be his Commander of the Kingsguard. Even if I could decline- and we saw how persuasive he was when Tyrion attempted to do so as well- I would not wish to and took the position immediately. We are slowly regathering our wits and rebuilding here, and most of the Lords and Ladies have gone home. As King Bran gathers his whitecloaks, I have in turn decided to make Podrick a knight. I feel as though he deserves it, and has for some time. I feel like he will wish to stay near me and the king, so he will likely ask to join the Kingsguard as well. By the time the letter has reached you,  he will have already been knighted.  _

_ As for King Bran’s council, we have Tyrion as the hand, as most know. Ser Davos has been appointed the Master of Ships. Bronn, now Lord of Highgarden and the Reach, is the Master of Coins-he certainly knows how to spend coin, we’ll see how good he is at saving it. The Grandmaester is Samwell Tarly, although he does agree he’ll need to finish some classes in the future. I suspect that King Bran is doing so in an effort to show all of his appreciation for what Sam has helped us with in the past. We do not have the other seats filled, but I know in time we shall.  _

_ I doubt you will have heard anything future, but the last we heard of the final dragon was he was heading toward Volantis. I don’t think we’ll see from him again in our lifetimes, but stranger things have happened.  _

_ King Bran has already expressed a desire to return to Winterfell, if not for practical reasons. We outlined about four times we’ll return, at intervals, or that is to say, a representative will. We will be firstly returning to gather any items King Bran wishes to bring back with him to the Capitol. Once the Small Council is complete, we will come again to discuss the exact terms of how our two Kingdoms will exist from here on out. I suspect other meetings will be about imports and exports and terribly boring things. Still, as much as King Bran claims ‘not to want’, I’d like to think it’s because he still wishes to see you.  _

_ I am sending letters to your sister as well. I hear she is at Storm’s End. I will leave it with the thought I am glad she is truly happy. I hope you are too.  _

_ With much love, _

_ Ser Brienne  _

 

_ Dear Ser Brienne, _

_ While you may serve my brother now, I am thrilled to get a letter from you. I will always consider you one of my greatest friends and I hope that we can remain so, even with the lines drawn between us.  _

_ I have not yet gotten the chance to gather my council, but King Bran I’m sure has many people readily offering themselves. Likewise to as you said, when we both have our best advisers at our backs, we will indeed need a lengthy discussion about how we will proceed. I’m glad to hear that it sounds Bran will come here; I will not be coming to King’s Landing, if you so understand. On that note, Bran is welcome to return at any time, but I’d suggest a smaller convoy. The last time the Southern King rode into Winterfell, many great tragedies followed. Plus, I can’t say that my men are not still wary, even if a Stark sits on the throne.  _

_ Just give me proper notice, and I will be sure to make arrangements for when you wish to come. _

_ Love, _

_ Queen Sansa _

_ Ps; Send  _ _ Ser  _ _ Podrick my heartfelt congratulations! He entirely deserves it and I honestly could not be more pleased.  _

 

_ Dear Queen Sansa, _

_ Your congratulations have been received. I dreamed often about the day I would become a knight, but it is better than anything I could have wished for. I know that fighting for you, at Winterfell, was a significant part of what lead me to the knight I am today. I will never be able to repay you and the North. I am pleased to serve your brother, King Bran, in his Kingsguard, but know that Ser Brienne and I discussed at length coming back to serve you. I might have, and perhaps it’s not right of me to say, had you not encouraged Ser Brienne that King Bran perhaps needed us more.  _

_ I believe King Bran will ask me on his first trip back to his birth home. With that in mind, I will see you within a few moons. _

_ Cordially, _

_ Ser Podrick _

 

_ IX _

 

Sansa’s stomach growled as she dismissed the ladies she’d invited to Winterfell. Most of them had been overly willing to come to their Queen’s fort if even for a quarter moon, to learn under Sansa about how to run their household.

Sansa was realizing very quickly that, like her, most women had picked up most of the necessary skills to run a household from watching their fathers, brothers, or husbands for years before. The one thing they were missing was the confidence to make big decisions, ones that would have always been left up to a male. 

“You shouldn’t,” Sansa had told them, “Because either one of two things will be true.” Sansa held up two fingers, bending them down as she talked, “One, it will benefit your household and you can be satisfied in knowing you’ve made the right choice. Or, two, it will have been the wrong choice, but that’s fine too. Not without some guilt, yes, but that’s how one learns. However, we all know if it had been your husband, say, that would have made the wrong call, hardly anyone would say anything. Perhaps his King or his advisors, as I will try to do for all of you. I keep all of your houses best interests at heart.”  

“So,” The young Cardina Mazin asked, brow furrowed, “You’re saying we should rule as men?” 

She was a young thing, having just reached her ten and third year. Her face was still dewy looking, a soft pink tinge to her cheeks and lips and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She sat up straight, hair braided elaborately each morning, and hung on Sansa’s word like it was gospel. 

“Men ruling has gotten us into more trouble than I can count, and women have far more intelligent, I’ve gathered, so no,” Sansa’s lip twitched in a smile, “I wish you to rule as females that have the oversold confidence of men.” 

There was a rusty laugh from Berena Tallheart, and at least a couple other women smirked. Sansa looked out the windows, realizing it was near dinner. She should get ready for the meal. Politely, she dismissed herself from the studying occurring. 

Sansa stopped down by the kitchens for just a moment, spying a plate of lemon cakes freshly baked. Feeling like a mischievous child again, Sansa glanced around before reaching a hand out to snatch a piece. She knew she could just as well have one in about an hour or so, but her stomach wouldn’t have it. 

She ate it in three quick bites, licking the snowy white sugar from her fingers, savoring the ever-so-familiar taste. 

“Some things, it seems, never change.” 

Sansa stiffened, the voice calling back to something long forgotten. It was a ghost of a memory, something that had been shoved so far down Sansa had forgotten it had existed. 

As soon as she heard it, she was awash with giggles under heavy feather blankets, braiding each other’s hair by candle, gossiping about the strapping boys that came through Winterfell as soldiers, and that final hug as Sansa had left for King’s Landing. It all just rushed back over her skin, like a warm bath, a softness that Sansa didn’t know she’d missed until now. 

She turned, picking up the heavy hems of her gowns to hasten across the space, before throwing her arms around her oldest friend. 

“My Queen, let me bow to you! This is hardly proper!” 

“Oh, Jeyne, please quit it,” Sansa laughed, pulling away, “I thought you dead after Theon-,” Sansa couldn’t finish, the words choking down. He’d been absolved of his sins, but many did not see it that way. 

“We escaped. Theon he...he let me go,” Jeyne looked away. 

“That doesn’t matter, not now,” Sansa insisted, tugging Jeyne out toward her own private study, “I’m just so pleased for you to be home.” 

“I have missed Winterfell,” Jeyne gave a long sigh, a sad smile on her face as she turned around, looking at the worn halls, “I’ve heard that you haven’t yet found your handmaids.” 

“I haven’t found anyone yet,” Sansa admitted, falling back into the safety of confiding in Jeyne. As children, they’d known all of each other’s darkest secrets. It felt like no time had passed to admit this to her, “They never claimed it was easy, I suppose.” 

“Queen Sansa-,” 

“Just Sansa,” Sansa stopped her with a firm stare but a warm grin, “We have known each other far too long for you to use formalities as though we’re strangers.” 

“I was going to say that, if you’d have me, I’d be honored to be your handmaid,” Jeyne said. 

Sansa examined her for a second, head tilted and tongue pressed against the back of her teeth. She pulled out the sheet she’d drawn up of all the titles within Winterfell’s walls that still needed to be filled. It was indeed a great many. 

“Any girl can be a proper handmaid,” Sansa began slowly, “And it is not what I am in the direst need of.” Jeyne was now frowning at Sansa, unsure, “Jeyne, do you remember your father’s duties here?” 

Jeyne opened her mouth, then closed it. When she spoke again, she was shaking her head, “Surely you don’t mean...there has to be others.” 

“Perhaps, but I’m asking you,” Sansa said, “You grew up as the daughter of the Steward and I want the people closest to me to be those that I trust implicitly. I know your father gave his life for my family, and I know you would have done the same.” 

“My Queen,” Jeyne choked out like she couldn't quite believe it, “Do you not think there may be some...arguments about naming me the new Steward?” 

Sansa shrugged, already penning her name down, “Perhaps. However, as we’ve established, I am the queen, so,” She looked up, smiling, “It’s not really any of their places to do anything.”

 

_ X _

_ Dear Arya, _

_ I dearly miss you. I wish you were home. I had gotten so used to talking to you while in King’s Landing that it just feels empty here without you. Without any of our siblings, honestly, but you’re actually the hardest ghost to deal with. I feel like you should be here with me, sharing this honor and triumph. I suppose I can’t fault you when you’ve found happiness- and yes, it is happiness. I don’t believe you for a second when you say you’ve ‘just found a good shag’. I think that you can have absolutely have found a good shag (and, well, I’m pleased that Lord Baratheon treats you well, or else I may have to call for his head) but have also found some joy. Something to consider.  _

_ If you ever are feeling homesick, I implore you to return. I have not yet filled out my entourage...well, any of them yet. Around the time you killed the Night King is the time I stopped pretending you’d ever grow up to be a lady like myself, and that’s okay. If you came back, I’d find someone to knight you if you wanted and you could be the head of my safety guard. I’m unsure if I wish to call it a Queensguard or have a Small Council. There is something to be said about not mirroring the Six Kingdoms.  _

_ Deep down, I know you won’t return, and I suppose I will have to make peace with that.  _

_ So far, I have only named Jeyne Poole as the new Steward. She returned three days ago, can you believe it? I’m so thrilled to have her here!  _

_ I still need practically every other position filled. I very much respect your opinion (well, most of them), so if you have any ideas I would be interested to hear them.  _

_ Lately, I’m just feeling so tired. I suppose it’s not fair to have me complain about being Queen, as this is exactly what I asked for, but it’s exhausting to rebuild. I am excited to bring us into the future, but there seems to be so much to be done. I know as soon as I gather my council it will get easier, but as it is, I feel like I am juggling thirty things at once. Naming a council is somehow on the last part of my mind. I find myself unable to sleep, just always thinking of what I need to do tomorrow. Do you think it gets better? Is this how Father felt all the time? Gods, I hope not… _

_ As always, I love you and hope to hear from you soon, _

_ Your sister  _

 

_ Sansa, _

_ I am perfectly content here with Gendry, as I think you already know. One day I may return, but for right now, that’s just not where I need to be. If I did return, I’m not sure it would be permanent. I have been thinking about it and, well...you might be right. About Gendry, that is. That will be the only time I’ll ever say that, so...yeah. Don’t get used to it.  _

_ I am happy to hear Jeyne has survived. A part of me wants to remind you that perhaps I shouldn’t since she always used to call me horseface and make fun of me, but I suppose I made both of your lives a little miserable too? I’ve seen too much to be upset about petty childhood things, so yes, I’m happy she’s alive. I’m sure that it also probably infuriated some of the stuffy old men when you named her. Which to that, I say, good.  _

_ As for who else to suggest, I honestly don’t know. I don’t know who is still alive and who isn’t. I trust you’ll figure it out, though. You always do.  _

_ Finally, as to your tiredness and all, no, I don’t think it will be like that always. I think you have a lot on your plate right now. Speaking from experience (and, we’re talking very good experience), I truly think you just need a good night of relaxation. If I’m not being clear enough, you need to have a decent fuck. I’m absolutely sure that any of the young men around Winterfell would be MORE than happy to assist their Queen in this endeavor. Trust me; a good roll in the hay does wonders. You could have a different one a night, if you so pleased, to figure out what flavor you like. It might be just as exciting as much as it provides relief and tires you out.  _

_ I think we both can admit that’s truly the problem.  _

_ Love, Arya _

 

_ Dear Arya, _

_ No. _

_ Sansa _

_ (Ps. You know exactly what I’m talking about)  _


	3. Chapter 3

_ XI _

Much of Sansa’s time used felt like it was just writing letters. Writing until her hand was cramped and her fingers were blotchy with ink and burned from where the hot wax had scalded her skin. She was writing frequently enough that she considered having a secondary scribe brought in, and Sansa would dictate, but she was particular about the way she wrote. She didn’t want anyone else doing it. Her words were her own and she could not allow someone else to claim that. 

She mostly found herself conversing with Arya, and by extension, Lord Gendry. He hadn’t yet learned how to read and write, so in the meantime, Arya was helping him with his letters. 

_ You know this almost means you’re his lady,  _ Sansa had pointed out, hopeful that Arya could hear the smirk in her words. 

_ No, it doesn’t,  _ Arya had replied, stubborn as ever. 

In fact, Sansa had never felt so comforted by all those who were in positions of power. She felt like she could send any one of them a raven and it would not be strange. There was her uncle Edmure at Riverrun, who she’d restarted a family correspondence with. Her cousin Robin at the Vale and he actually seemed wiser than the last time they’d met. Or, at least, wanting to make things better, which is what mattered. Gendry in the Storm Lands. The new Dornish Lord had actually reached out to Sansa first- Xachryis Martell- with an offer in marriage. Sansa had politely declined, but she got the feeling he was asking because it was what was expected, not that he thought she’d agree. So far, he was pleasant to talk to, but Sansa was being cautious. 

Then, in King’s Landing, Sansa had many ravens flying back and forth. None, ironically, being her brother...the Three-Eyed Raven. 

Ser Brienne was her main confidant. Ser Davos penned on occasion, and Sansa got the feeling he felt like he should take Arya and Sansa under his wing as Brienne had. A father figure. No one could ever replace Eddard Stark, but Ser Davos was almost like the grandfather she’d never known. 

Lord Tyrion wrote about every once a moon, and they’d reached some sort of strange friendship in the aftermath of the whole thing. Unexpectedly, the letters from Ser Podrick were beginning to appear with increasing frequency. 

Sansa could, of course, not write him back and that would be that. However, it wasn’t as though any of his letters were inappropriate and she was quite enjoying hearing the news of King’s Landing from a different perspective. He had a quiet wit, one that was born from serving under Tyrion and Brienne, that she could just see the sparest hints of. It made her want to uncover more. 

There were only two locations Sansa gave pause to write letters to.

The first was Bronn, new Lord of Highgarden, for Sansa couldn’t imagine having much to discuss with him. And, she frankly didn’t want to expend the energy in wading through his suggestive comments and lascivious statements. 

The second was Yara of the Iron Islands. 

She shouldn't be afraid of writing. It wasn’t the strong-willed girl she feared as much as the conversations that would come of it. Her brother had died at Winterfell and this was something Sansa felt she was unprepared to unpack. 

It was not something she could put off forever, though. 

“You wanted to see me, my Queen?” Jeyne tapped on the door to the library. 

“Yes, please,” Sansa waved her in. In the days since she’d been installed as Steward, Sansa already felt her responsibilities starting to lift off her shoulders as Jeyne started to delegate tasks. She took any task head-on, forging through with confidence that Sansa didn’t recall from their childhood. They were all different people now, Sansa supposed. 

“I would like you to find where they are keeping the bones of those we burned after the battle here,” Sansa asked, doing away with niceties. They would have time to smile and laughter later in the evening when the work was done. 

Jeyne nodded resolutely. Sansa didn’t imagine her to know right now where they were, but she was assured that Jeyne would find that out. 

“And when I do?” She asked. 

“Come find me and bring me there, even if I am in the middle of something.” 

Jeyne bowed as she left and Sansa looked at the half-started letter to Yara, probably her eighth or ninth attempt. Most of the copies landed squarely in the trash, but it was something she could no longer justify putting off. 

It took less than a day. In fact, mere hours later, Jeyne politely caught Sansa’s attention. 

“They’re in a storage room. Any family members that wished to collect bones, any that could be notified, have been allowed to collect them.” 

Sansa followed her to the dusty hall. The walls clung to the stench of death, a smell from the battle Sansa would never shake. There were lit candles along the walls along with carefully marked boxes. Sansa felt a sob catch in her throat as she stared at the hundreds of tiny graves, and that was with the thought some had already been claimed and put to rest. Seeing all the men on the pyres had been shocking. Seeing all the boxes here was chilling. 

Up front were the boxes of the most significant. Sansa took off her gloves, lightly touching the box that held Lyanna. It was smaller compared to the rest, and there was something utterly heartbreaking in this. Jorah’s was right next to hers. She made a mental note to send a letter to Jon and Sam, asking which one of the two would want to have Lord Commander Edd’s bones. 

Then, coming upon it suddenly, was Theon’s. She didn’t even have to look at the name, for the pin she had slipped into his armor was on top. 

“Didn’t your mother give you that pin when you turned ten?” Jeyne asked, recognizing it. 

“Yes, and I gave it to him. He spent so much of his life trying to figure out if he was a Stark or a Greyjoy,” Her bottom lip quivered. “He was both.” 

Her hands hovered above it, but Sansa could not touch it. In a corner was his dented and dirty Greyjoy armor, blackened with soot and reddened with blood. 

Sansa could not pick it up. The idea that Theon, everything that was left of him, lay in that box made everything hurt. Some part of her had imagined him walking it off, leaving after the battle, moving on. She hoped his soul was at peace. She couldn’t bear picking up the box and hearing his bones clanking around, knowing that his impossibly ruffled light ginger hair, his charming smile, and his sea-green eyes were well and truly gone. 

“Should I pick it up, Sansa?” Jeyne’s voice was barely above a whisper. 

“Yes, please,” Sansa said, finding the words hard to speak, “And then put it...bring it…” 

“Perhaps to your solar, my queen?” 

“Yes, there,” Sansa said, grateful for her suggestion. 

Jeyne asked Sansa if she wanted a friend, once they were back up in the halls, but Sansa shook her head. 

“I’m fine.” 

Whether or not Jeyne believed this obvious lie Sansa wasn’t sure. 

In her solar, Theon’s bones were placed in a cabinet. Out of sight, the better, Sansa originally thought. Until guilt came over her and she took the box out, holding her breath until it was sitting on her desk. 

“I’ll do right for you, as much as I can,” Sansa told the slightly dusty parcel. Her fingers wiped away the dust with reverence, tracing down the edges of the box, inhaling deeply as she held back the feelings that were twisting in her chest. 

She took out her tenth draft to Yara and sent the raven off by nightfall. 

 

_ XII _

 

_ Dear Lady Yara, _

_ Is that what you would prefer to be called? What title would you like best?  _

_ I apologize for taking such an extended time to contact you. I wish to have blamed it on the business that I have felt of late, but in all honesty, that sounds like I had forgotten your brother. The idea you might think that makes me want to speak plainly; I found myself avoiding this letter for it difficult to write. It is, in many ways, easier to pretend that Theon survived and I do not have to admit what makes me so sad. _

_ I know that King Bran already informed you of Theon’s death and how heroic it was. I know he also informed you we had to burn the bodies, in fear of the Night King return. As it is also Winter, the ground does not allow for graves, and thusly burning is more traditional. Theon spoke of home enough for me to know that the Ironborn are given water funerals, and trust me when I say it breaks my heart that I could not give that to him. If we had the time or resources, I would have ridden with his body to the shore and set him off the way he deserves.  _

_ As it is, we have his bones here, and his armor. I have no qualms sending the armor back to you, in case you’d like it as a memento or to pass it along to a new young soldier. It’s dirty, but still in good shape.  _

_ More specifically, though, I write to ask about his bones. While he is an Ironborn, he is also a Stark and I know that he loved both sides of his identity equally. I know you recognize this too, or else would not have allowed him to come here to fight for us. It is a tradition for Starks to be buried in the Crypts. Theon was a Stark in all but name. He was in every other way that mattered.  _

_ If it is agreeable to you, I would very much like to keep half of his bones to do as I said above. You can have the other half if you’d still like to give him as much of a proper burial as you can.  _

_ If this is something we can come to an accord upon, send me a Raven back and the next time that someone leaves Winterfell and the North to go to the Six Kingdoms, I will send half his bones and armor back to you. _

_ Queen Sansa _

 

~~_ Sansa _ ~~

~~_ How dare you- _ ~~

~~_ It’s your fault that he- _ ~~

~~_ Queen Sansa, I _ ~~

~~_ I _ ~~

~~_ You bitc _ ~~

~~_ Theon _ ~~

_ Sansa, _

_ I apologize for the lack of formality, but as you understand, King Bran is my king and you are not my queen. I do not mean any disrespect.  _

_ You may call me Lady Greyjoy, although I think we both know I’m about as much as a lady as your sister is. Titles are important, so I won’t argue that too much.  _

_ As you might be able to glean from the smudges above, I too had trouble properly writing this letter and that has also led to the late reply.  _

_ I won’t hide it; a part of me hates the fact that Theon died with you and he was so far from the sea. A part of me wishes I’d never let him go. A part of me really wants to hate you.  _

_ Maybe a small part of me does.  _

_ A part of me snapping at you during the council was because of this. I’m not perfect, never claimed to be, but I can come to terms with it.  _

_ A bigger part of me almost wants to demand all his bones back.  _

_ However… _

_ I also love Theon and I know Theon. You and your siblings were his family when he only had me and didn’t know I was even alive. Ned Stark was probably a better father than our own ever would have been to him. He loved Winterfell maybe more than he loved being a Greyjoy.  _

_ He’ll fucking haunt me forever if I don’t agree to let him be buried with the rest of you. _

_ I don’t think we’ll ever be friends, but I can compromise for the sake of Theon. I can be cordial because I know that’s how all of this works and that’s what King Bran is preaching.  _

_ I will be expecting half his bones and his armor the soonest it can be sent.  _

_ I will answer any future ravens if they pertain to the success of the Kingdoms thriving.  _

_ Lady Yara Greyjoy of the Iron Islands _

 

_ XIII _

 

Late at night, under the covers, Sansa and Jeyne shared a warm pot of tea and a plate of lemon finger cakes. 

Sometimes, more lately than not, Jeyne and Sansa ended up in Sansa’s big bed, laughing and giggling and talking about Winterfell as they fell asleep. It felt familiar to Sansa; Jeyne had often had unauthorized sleepovers with Sansa before. It was like falling asleep next to a sister or her mother. She knew there were whispers about Sansa’s inclinations behind her back, but Sansa let them whisper. If it meant she managed to fall asleep more frequently than before, she’d ignore it. 

For as much joy as Jeyne brought Sansa, a childhood playfulness she hadn’t felt in what felt like eons, Sansa could tell there was a darkness that lurked beneath her eyes too. They hadn’t touched such topics yet, but for every moment that Sansa toed those dark conversations, she got the feeling that Jeyne too had seen far too much for her young eyes. 

So, Sansa considered, as much as she needed this, perhaps Jeyne did too. 

One night, it seemed Jeyne could be silent no longer. 

“I almost had a family.” 

They’d been talking about how some of the young boys and girls who now were the Lords and Ladies of their houses resembled their late mothers and fathers, so it wasn’t a wholly unreasonable jump. It did give Sansa a moment of quiet, however.

Somewhere deep, Sansa knew she didn’t mean she had a father and sisters and a mother. Sansa knew it meant something more. The something Sansa had always dreamed about as a child. 

Sansa was silent but gave Jeyne an encouraging look. She didn’t want to scare her friend from telling her, especially since it seemed to weigh on her particularly tonight. 

“We met after I escaped Winterfell. His name was Handon and he had the most gorgeous green eyes. I made myself useful as a maid at Last Hearth; I was just trying to keep my head down, forget about my father, not catch the attention of whoever was trying to take over Winterfell currently. He was a squire; like we’d always dreamed of meeting. He followed me around for days, and oh, you would have loved him, Sansa. He was so,” Jeyne let out a sad, almost angry but somehow also amused sigh, “Charming.” 

She pursed her lips, reaching for Sansa’s fingers. 

“He died at the Battle of the Bastards, fighting for Jon, for the North. We both agreed it was right he ride for you. He said when he came back, he’d marry me. Make me a proper girl, even if it was obvious I wasn’t since when he left I was noticeably pregnant.” 

A chill danced up Sansa’s spine, like spiders crawling to the nape of her neck. The fact that tears were gathering in Jeyne’s eyes, along with the fact no such child had accompanied her here spoke of a tragic ending.

Sansa closed her eyes, biting her lip herself, feeling a quarter of the pain that Jeyne felt. It was enough to leave her breathless. 

“He was born dead,” Jeyne whispered, “I knew it before it happened. He stopped kicking, you see, and I just knew. I still had to give birth to him. He would have had his father’s eyes.” 

“Jeyne, Gods,” Sansa whispered, pulling her into a hug. Jeyne buried herself in Sansa, her tiny frame shaking. 

“I’m so glad I found you again, Sansa. I’m not sure how I could have continued on much longer.” 

“You can cry more, I don’t mind,” Sansa said, nothing her tears drying up. Jeyne gave a slow shake of her head. 

“I cried enough before. It’s just a sore ache now.” She twirled a loose string of the bedsheets, “I’ve noticed some of the boys passing through have tried to catch my eye. Is it awful that I might have found one that’s cute? Should I be mourning Handon still? No one tells you these things, you know.” 

“Jeyne, you deserve to be happy,” Sansa said with every ounce she could muster, “Honestly.” 

“Thank you,” Jeyne said, as though something had been lifted, “What about you?” 

“What about me?” 

“You...I know that you have suffered, but you deserve happiness too.” 

Sansa inhaled sharply, “It’s stories for another night. My sadness does not fit into just one session.” 

“You don’t have to tell me anything, Sansa. I didn’t tell you with the expectation you’d return it.” 

“No, no,” Sansa furrowed her brow, “I want to talk about it all. Arya knows some, but there are things that only I’ve kept, hidden, eating away at me.” She rolled to look up at the ceiling, “The short of it is that I was beaten, sold off like cattle, raped, manipulated, and abused,” She said, her voice having no waver. Jeyne choked a little on the tea. 

“Sansa, oh—,” She struggled, “And here I am, complaining about a lost love!” 

“Jeyne, no,” Sansa looked back at her, “We can still equally share the pain. And,” She gave a near conspiratorial smile, “All those who hurt me are dead right now. I am not. There is justice sometimes.” 

“How are you still…” Whatever Jeyne was about to ask died away, but Sansa understood the question well enough. She examined her parent’s old chest of drawers. Her parents had always been humble and had chosen a room close to many other rooms, to be near their children. It wasn’t the biggest or most ostentatious of bedrooms by far. Ramsey hadn’t wanted small and quaint. He’d wanted the best, biggest, and most ‘Kingly’ room there was. The worst of her memories hadn’t sullied her parent’s room. She refused to walk anywhere near the room it had happened, but she felt that was more than fair. If it wasn’t, well, attached to the rest of the fort, Sansa would have torn it down and burned everything in there. 

“Sometimes I don’t know. I just know that I had to keep fighting and I did. And it made me Queen. Now, I have my people, and they make me want to keep fighting. Some days are better, some are worse.” 

There was a long pause, and then Sansa cracked a smile, snorting in laughter. 

“Arya would tell me to get laid. In fact, she does in her letters. Frequently.” 

A smile blossomed across Jeyne’s face and soon both the girls were laughing so much they couldn’t stop. 

“It is very helpful, under the right times,” Jeyne agreed with a sly grin. 

Sansa didn’t want to admit quite yet that she’d only ever had sex with Ramsay, and she’d hated that, but she sometimes pleasured herself when she had a lot of time and was enjoying a warm bath. That in itself did feel extremely good; she assumed sex was just about the same. 

“Do you think you’ll ever love again?” Jeyne asked, sobering slightly, but the mood brightened a smidge. 

“I…” Sansa mulled over her words carefully in her mind before speaking, “I’m not sure I’ve ever been in love. Not properly anyway, not how I know it can be.” 

Jeyne was silent. Sansa could see her thinking. 

“After all of it, then, do you think you can fall in love?” 

_ I hope I can _ , Sansa whispered inwardly. Instead, she just gave a soft smile to Jeyne. 

“Right now, my kingdom is all I need. I don’t bother myself with questions that don’t need answering.” 

Jeyne grunted softly, already falling asleep. Sansa herself did feel tired. 

“I think that’s a cowardly answer, Sans,” Jeyne said, voice fuzzy with a yawn, “But I think you will. I hope you will.” 

  
  


_ XIV _

 

“Great Seven,” Jeyne couldn’t help but blurt out the moment the pair of ladies set eyes upon the young girl standing awkwardly in the hearth room. Sansa herself had to do a double take, her gaze casting carefully over the shrouded figure, the shaking shoulders, and the bright eyes. Randin Cerwyn, the newly appointed Master of Arms, blinked, his papers almost slipping from his fingers. 

“She looks just like…” Randin started, flummoxed, gathering his papers back against his chest. 

Sansa strode confidently across the hall. Despite there being a large group of gathered men and women, seeking jobs here at Winterfell, and despite the fact that usually, Jeyne handled all the interviews, Sansa could not help herself.

The girl was young looking, though Sansa guessed her to be nearly ten and two. Everything from the color of her hair, the depth of her eyes, the shade of her skin, and the way she frowned in thought was all much too reminiscent of a fallen bannerman. 

“My Queen,” The girl said, curtsying as soon as Sansa approached. Her skirt was fringed at the bottom and dirtied from the travel. Her fingernails and hair were caked with a light dusting of mud, just enough to stain her appearance. She was so frail, Sansa realized, that the clothes on her back hung off her figure like cloth caught on a twig. 

“Would you like to come with me?” Sansa asked softly, offering a hand. The girl nodded twice. Despite her age, she may have been spending most of her time away from her family, Sansa did wonder if she was seeking comforts from not having a family.

Certainly, she didn’t have her father. 

Jeyne snapped out of her daze, following behind. Randin followed wordlessly, eyes wide, counting back on his fingers. 

“Jory, well, this would have been a year or two before your father left for King’s Landing,” He whispered loud enough for Sansa to hear. Jeyne threw back places she thought perhaps he had been, all the while their faces turned toward the girl. 

They were talking about Jory Cassel, of course, the former Master of Arms. The Cassel line was nearly extinct, save for Beth Cassel who had dug herself out from Dreadfort, missing a finger or two from her torture. As the Cassels had always been extremely loyal, and Sansa enjoyed the poeticness about those who had survived Ramsay and his awful family, Sansa had named the Cassels a Lorded vassal family and given Beth- now Lady Beth Cassel- Dreadfort as her family’s home. Sansa had also included within the raven that Beth was free to do with it as she pleased. She could dismantle it stone by stone for all Sansa cared, and Sansa may even find joy in that. 

Sansa had thought Beth the last of the Cassels.

Until now. 

The gods may call her a fool, but Sansa was nearly entirely sure that the girl standing before her was the bastard daughter of Jorey. It was Jory with a female face, but even her long hair and slightly more pixie features did not disguise the brave knight’s familiar look. It was like seeing an apparition of the past, coming back. 

“What is your name, child?” Sansa asked softly after sitting her down and out of the noisiness of the hall, a plate of food in front of her. The girl hesitated, looking at the food like it would bite her hand, “Please, eat.” 

Sansa leaned forward to take a small piece of the chicken the cooks had made, biting off a bit. This seemed to be the moment that the girl waited for, and dug into her food with a fury that made Sansa feel sick. This girl was so close to dying of the lack of food that it was a miracle she made it here. 

“I’m Aedlayne Snow, m’Queen.” The girl remembered to answer in between bites, licking her fingers. As she near finished it, she seemed to recall her manners and patted the corners of her lips with the napkin, blushing hard. Sansa only gave a quirk of a smile. 

Behind her, saw Jeyne and Randin share a look in her periphery. 

“Randin, can you fetch more food?” 

“My queen, I couldn’t-,” 

“You’d be no use to me anywhere half-starved,” Sansa said softly, “Do you know who your parents were?” 

“My mom’s dead,” Aedlayne said bluntly, “And you all know who my dad is.” She said. She was more clever than Sansa had originally thought. She was not to be underestimated, no, not as she flickered her gaze to Jenye and then back to Sansa. 

“Jory,” Sansa confirmed. 

“Aye. He never knew...after it all, there was just never time.” 

“Usually, we might question your paternity,” Randin said, returning with some vegetables, “But-,” 

“I look just like him. I’ve heard.” Now, not quite in the need of food she was moments ago, sat up straight and used her utensils just as well as any high-born girl. Despite her ratty clothes, she had formal training. 

“Aedlayne, you’re here to look for a job?” Sansa clarified. It was unlikely the news had reached her that Beth was now a Lady. If she went there, she’d be recognized too. Still, Sansa felt the need to protect her, keep her close.  

“Yes, your excellence. My aunt suggested I come here. I am a good worker and can do most anything you need; scullery maid, cook, launderer…” 

Sansa realized there were more skills than that of a lowly worker. 

She had not yet found a handmaid until right now, it seemed. 

“I think I have a different offer if you’d like,” Sansa said. 

Aedlayne’s face brightened, “Whatever you think would best fit, Queen Sansa.”

 

_ XV _

 

_ Dear Queen Sansa, _

_ I thought it right that I am the one to inform you of my impending arrival (Ser Brienne told me that phrasing it this way would be a little dramatic and ominous, but it is impending and I am set to arrive).  _

_ While I’m sure you’re aware that King Bran’s official coronation isn’t for another moon, I have been specifically chosen to come to Winterfell to gather most of Bran’s things he may need as well as in general check up on you. I know that you’d hate that part, but deep down, Bran is your brother and we both know that Winterfell took heavy losses getting to where we are today. We can’t help but worry. Or, I suppose Bran sees it. So, it’s just me and Brienne that worry. I hope you’re not upset by that.  _

_ Ser Brienne was concerned that if Bran went before his coronation, he may be attacked by rebels that are left, and everyone agreed it was safest for him to stay here. There was a discussion that he could come after it was all said and done, but the timing works best now if you believe it. _

_ I- as well as a small group of soldiers- have been chosen. Hopefully coming with a small group will also be seen less so as an attack.  _

_ I believe it’s because Bran trusts me. It’s funny; he can see any man and every awful thing they’ve done, so he should trust every member of his Kingsguard and other general nights, right? Still, I think a part of him is still very much human and he feels safe with me or Brienne. Or, I hope that’s the case. Otherwise, I might fear he’s trying to get rid of me... _

_ I would very much hope that you’ll spread the word so that we are not murdered the moment we set foot in the North, even though we’ll be waving Stark banners. They aren’t YOUR Stark banners anymore, though, which is the difference.  _

_ I also hope you’ll welcome us with hospitality.  _

_ Ser Podrick Payne  _

 

_ Ser Podrick, _

_ Of course, you’re welcome in the North. Anyone who fought for us will always be a friend here, especially someone who cares for my brother. It may not be the ‘smart’ choice, but frankly, I grow weary of falling into the same old patterns that our fathers and forefathers did long before we arrived. Everyone is telling me to be careful of Bran now, that his interests are not ours anymore. I realize that, and I also learned from others to never show my hand. Still, I admit, I’m not sure if that’s the best path, considering all of those people died hideous, sad deaths after sad lives.  _

_ I digress, I suppose. My ruling philosophies are likely boring you.  _

_ The point of the letter is to assure you that no harm will come to you and the men with you. You will have a place at Winterfell and be treated like the heroes you are. As long as I rule, you have a friend here.  _

_ I look forward to your visit, _

_ Queen Sansa  _

 

_ Dear Queen Sansa, _

_ I doubt I could ever tire of reading your letters, no matter how boring you may think the subject matter to be. You could copy a Maester’s history and I may still be equally as enraptured.  _

_ By the time you receive this raven, I will be long on my way. _

_ I will see you within the moon, _

_ Ser Podrick Payne _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all can decide if you feel like the crossed out bits by Yara were things Sansa could actually read or if they were just strange smudges ;)   
> Also, I named the magically appearing Dornish prince! Not soon after the ep aired, some people on Reddit were like 'oh, I think his name is Randym Martell or Theneu Martell' and I was like 'huh! that's so cool that he has a name'....yeah, it took me a second. I won't say I wasn't VERY tempted to just make one of those his name lol  
> And Pod returns next chapter! who is excited? :D   
> If you like this, consider dropping a review!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little late, but also very long!  
> I feel like I rewrote the last bit over and over, but I finally semi-happy!   
> Enjoy, all!

_ XVI _

“Queen Sansa! We can see your brother’s flags on the horizon!” 

Sansa stood quickly, the chair knocking back and tumbling over. Her heart filled with joy until she recalled that it wouldn’t be Bran. And, even if he had made the trip, he was no longer the bright-eyed curious boy who she’d watched over and mourned over when the news reached her of his ‘death’. A part of Sansa expected her emotions to temper, but she still felt that strange tell-tale flutter down in the deepest parts of her stomach, one that would not quell. 

“Thank you, sir. I’ll be down to greet them in a moment,” Sansa dismissed him. The young squire paused before darting over to set the chair back to standing, stuttering out a couple of words of parting as he left. The way his cheeks blushed and the way his eyes stayed glued to the floor reminded Sansa so much of Podrick when she first met him when he was a squire for Tyrion. 

_ One day,  _ she almost wanted to tell him,  _ you’ll get there. If Podrick can do it, you surely can.  _

Podrick...he was going to be in the arriving group. Sansa did not realize how excited she was for his arrival until she was tending at the gates and her whole body was still shaking slightly. To have any familiar faces was like finding life over and over and over again; it was the joy she’d experienced reconnecting with Jeyne or any other members of her father’s former household. 

She walked slowly down to the main courtyard. She could see the Stark flags waving in the distance. Perhaps not ‘Stark’ anymore. She’d been informed by Podrick and Tyrion in letters that Bran has asked for a change to them. It would be very convincing to have two opposing Stark flags. It still was the warm gray colors that her father had loved to wear and there was still a dire wolf, but behind the head of the howling wolf was a raven. Appropriate; Sansa thought with a small snort. It did set the two houses apart now. She wondered if Bran would change his name until she realized it didn’t matter. He would not have any natural-born heirs, rather give the title on to the next worthy soul. 

It was a small convoy. Only eight. If it were more, Sansa wasn’t sure what would happen. Already, she saw her guards eyeing the group with trepidation. They had good reason to hate King’s Landing and all from it, even if now Bran was the King. If Sansa had married Joffrey, and things had progressed how she’d excitedly explained to her mother years ago, maybe they would have given her the same cautious welcome. 

Sansa was standing at the front gates. 

“My Queen, I’m sure that we can escort them to the hall for you,” Randin Cerywn said, “It’s chilly out.” 

“I’m sure you are capable of that,” Sansa replied, face stony, “But I will welcome them here.” 

Jeyne came to stand next to Sansa and Alys parted the crowd to stand near Sansa as well. She’d be returning to Fort Karstark within the moon, having now settled as much as she could here. Sansa was pleased that the welcoming front was women, as she felt it set the tone. Not that she expected Podrick to guffaw at the idea of Sansa ruling as a woman alone, but the other knights may harbor some...outdated ideals. 

Ser Podrick lead the procession, riding in on a stormy gray horse that towered over Sansa. It was a great deal larger than the rest and Sansa wondered if it was a destrier. She almost wondered where he acquired one until she remembered that Ser Podrick had the King’s favor now, and that was worth quite a lot. It certainly set him apart, gave him an air of confidence Sansa was unsure she’d ever seen on him. It was obvious the other members of the party deferred to him.

A handful of stable-boys rushed forward to grasp the reins as Podrick dismounted. 

As Podrick patted his horse’s side comfortingly, Sansa glanced around her. Most of her men at least recalled Podrick, and were looking at him with welcome, or at least a lack of hostility. Jeyne’s face was impassive, thoughtful. When Sansa looked at Alys, she noticed a blush slowly creeping up the young girl’s face, all the way to her ears. Alys’ gaze was locked onto Podrick. 

Sansa frowned, a strange feeling bubbling beneath the excitement at the realization that Alys may have a crush on the young knight. It was something Sansa did not enjoy feeling at all, but she wasn’t sure what it was, to be frank. 

As soon as Podrick had handed off his horse, he turned immediately to Sansa. 

“Queen Sansa,” He said, bowing before her. Now all the way to the ground, as though she were his queen, but enough to show the utmost respect. He raised his face to her. 

“Ser Podrick,” Sansa replied. His lips twitched as though he was attempting to keep a smile off his face and his eyes were lit up with something that reminded Sansa of sunlight. 

She was just so happy he was here. 

He stood, turning first to Alys, but before he could finish his greeting, Sansa had grasped onto him. 

She knew it would be better for her to maintain her mask of indifference and emotionlessness. She knew that there would be talk, again. She knew that showing the obvious pleasure to a member of their enemy- and yes, Bran was their enemy in the literal sense- was foolish. 

But...Sansa could list off the people she trusted implicitly between two hands. Less than ten people alive that Sansa trusted her life with, and that she knew would not forsake her, no matter the lines between them. It was a startlingly small number. More than that, it was a smaller group that she considered a  _ friend _ , something she feared would vanish entirely now that she was Queen. 

It wasn’t really Podrick she thought of, not at first, but Theon.

Specifically, she was thinking about how she- out of everything she’d ever done- would not regret greeting him with emotion when he’d arrive. She would not take back that moment in the hall, nor any of their short moments after. 

It was this reminder that caused her to pull Podrick into a hug in front of the whole courtyard. 

“Queen-,” Podrick broke off, obviously shocked and unprepared. Sansa wrapped her arms around his neck, inhaling his distinctly southern musk; something spicy and warm and almost earthy. After a moment, Podrick hugged her back. He grasped her tightly; not just a person hugging back for the sake of not looking strange, but like he actually wanted to. She did have the thought that this might be the first time she’d touched him more than just passing on the shoulder or arm, but something felt right and familiar about it anyway. 

Sansa knew that any longer would be entirely improper, so she untangled herself. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Ser Podrick,” She said, nodding. 

“I...erm, yes, my-your Lady, I mean, my Queen.” 

Any confidence Podrick had while riding in seemed to be momentarily wiped away as he stared at Sansa with the most peculiar expression, his face nearly as red as Sansa’s hair. 

“Lady Poole is my house Steward. She will settle you and your men into your rooms. I will go and inform the kitchens of your arrival and we’ll eat in an hour. I will see you then,” Sansa said briskly, returning her carefully controlled face of expressions. Underneath it all, she was shaking, her heart thumping harder than she could ever recall. 

“Yes, Queen Sansa,” Podrick said, his voice a little rough, his eyes watching her carefully. 

As Sansa weaved back to the main hall, Randin caught up with her. 

“I don’t mean to insult, my queen-,” 

“Then don’t,” Sansa snapped, having no patience for such flubbing around. 

“That was...perhaps an improper display.” 

Sansa turned to Randin, raising an eyebrow, “According to who?” 

“To tradition! And to-,” 

Sansa raised a single hand, “Ser Podrick fought for Winterfell and was part of the group that helped us survive. Not only that, he protected me when I had few others. He is a friend to the North, sir. I think we can all agree that we’ve spent far too much time not expressing ourselves to those that matter, wouldn’t you agree?” 

“But he’s a knight from the Kingdoms-,” 

“Oh?” Sansa said, voice dripping with sarcasm, “Thank you for bringing that to my attention. I’ll remember to stab him in the chest before I hug him next time.” 

“I’m not saying you have to kill him,” Randin was now struggling, his face pale. 

“Either he is a friend and we should be allowed small moments of acknowledging this, as I just did, or he is a foe and in that case, we should kill him on sight. I will not fall into these silly games that Littlefinger always puppeted, it is one or the other. Which will it be?” Sansa questioned, “Please, Randin, make up your mind.” She finished simply, turning away to talk to the kitchens. 

She had no tolerance for any of the bullshit that told her she wasn’t allowed to express joy about the arrival of her friend. 

  
  


_ XVII _

 

Sansa could not sleep. It was the first night of the party from the South arriving. Jeyne was sleeping in her own room, as it would be improper for this to continue when there were visitors. She’d stayed with Sansa until the moon was rising high into the sky, but had bid her best friend a good night with a half-sorry smile. 

Sansa was restless. 

She threw on a heavy cloak, lighting a candle on her desk. She waved out a flint stick, holding the flame up and putting a hand around it to protect it from the winds that whispered through her bedroom. 

Outside, the walls of Winterfell were quiet. It was almost peaceful. It wasn’t snowing, and it wasn’t quite cold. It was simply settled, as though the stones of her home had finally found its place after so much strife and heartache. 

Sansa wondered how the men were settling in. Podrick had lived here for a handful of moons, so he would be used to the feeling of curling up under heavy furs. Most of the other men who had joined him had not, as they were men plucked from King’s Landing and the surrounding areas for Bran’s shield. Sansa had of course provided more blankets than usual to assure their warmth, but it could take some getting used to. Just as the heat of King’s Landing had felt foreign and uncomfortable in the first few moons, Sansa understood their transition. She made a mental note to talk to Gage tomorrow morning and request some warmed cider for when they broke their fast; or, perhaps better, warm mead. 

Sansa found her feet trailing her around the halls of Winterfell. She hoped that a walk around would ease her into sleep. Perhaps if she tired herself out enough, it would be all too easy to fall into her bed. 

There was some talk in the courtyard. 

Sansa expected it to be some of the castle guards or men with weapons discussing the day, something trivial. She expected to see her own men. She did; but they were silent and respectful, nodding to Sansa as she passed. 

What she did not expect to see is Podrick, looking just as lost as Sansa felt internally, hovering in the open space. 

“But, ser-,” One of his men under him was arguing with him quietly. Podrick just gave a sad sort of smile, one Sansa knew well, and stopped him. 

“Go to sleep, Brid. I’m fine.” 

Brid seemed ready to argue more, but realized that Podrick would not be budged, and nodded once. He passed Sansa as he moved to his chambers, murmuring a polite and quick acknowledgment. Sansa held his gaze as he passed, tilting her head. 

She turned her expression back down to Podrick. 

He was staring at a wall with a nearly forlorn expression, something hard and angry and sad all at the same time. It took Sansa a moment. She may not have known for sure the meaning of this wall- one that looked entirely ordinary from her point of view- but she could read his face well enough. 

She crept up on him. 

“This is where you nearly died, wasn’t it?” 

Podrick nearly jumped out of his skin. 

“Queen Sansa,” He said, his face flushed, “I suppose I’m not a very good guard if I let you sneak up on me.” He forced a smile. 

Sansa just looked at the stone. The blood had been mostly washed away, but if one stared at it just right, the flecks of brown stains were remaining. It would always be there, Sansa felt. 

Podrick swallowed hard, turning his head back toward the wall. 

“Yes.” He just said, all in one breathe, “I thought I would have died many times before that- at Blackwater, I was sure I was a goner, but here…” 

Sansa closed her eyes hard, breathing in. 

“Then Lady Arya killed him,” Podrick continued. 

“If Arya ever hears you call her that…” She said in one breath. 

“I know. She’s a lady but she’s... I mean,” Podrick paused, then decided to drop it once he saw Sansa’s eyes glitter with humor, “I guess I didn’t think I could sleep until I faced it. I walked the long way around it today, to avoid it. It’s silly, it’s just a wall,” He looked away, “You probably find me mad.” 

Sansa took a step closer to him, “I don’t.” 

Podrick glanced up, eyes quietly questioning, but not pushing or demanding. He had grown a small beard since Sansa last saw him, or the beginnings of one. It made it look not quite as childlike as before, older. His clothes were wealthy looking. Not the hobbled-together set that they’d found for him and Brienne when they’d arrived, but something of matter, something carefully crafted. There was a hint of embroidery on it. Sansa found herself analyzing it, deciding she could have done it better. 

“Queen Sansa?” 

Sansa opened her mouth, licking her upper lip, before deciding she wasn’t quite sure how to reply. Instead, she blew out her candle, deciding to show him was better. 

“Ser Podrick,” Sansa said in the same tone, offering her arm to him, “If you would?” 

There was just a pause that lasted a second, nothing more, before Podrick was linking his arm in hers. 

Sansa brought him through the darkness of Winterfell, over the reparations and the scaffolds, through the areas where stone still lay unmoved- or just shoved to the side. She led him down a set of stairs, grasping one of the torches that they kept permanently lit of late. 

“I haven’t been able to come down here since the attack,” Sansa finally said, her voice wavering, “I thought I was going to die too.” She thought of how, like Podrick, there had been so many moments she was sure death was upon. She thought of how it was so unfair, almost mean, that in Winterfell she had most nearly met her end. How the place that was supposed to be safest for her had been spoiled. How she’d thought after Ramsay’s death she could rest easy.

How nothing was really fair, and how a part of Sansa wished to run into her parent’s arms and for them to make it all go away. 

She wasn’t sure how to explain that to anyone, but from how Podrick had stared at the wall outside, she knew that he knew the feeling too. 

The crypts lay deserted at this hour. It was cleared of rubble and bones, but the reparations were far from over. It was decided that the living was a more important aspect to focus on, not to say that they didn’t make sure the spirits were appeased down here. 

Sansa had been asked many a time to oversee the process, but she’d found soft and weak excuses each time to avoid it. She hadn’t been sure she’d ever been able to return. 

“We thought it was the safest place,” She continued, “And so many died down here. Mothers, girls,  _ babies _ .” Her grief spilled out before she could stop it, her cheeks flushed as she tried to keep from sobbing, “I mourn the men, I do, but to see a babe no older than six moons killed by the dead is horrifying.” 

Podrick was silent, examining not the cavernous space, but Sansa, “And you know what the worst part was?” She asked. 

“I cannot guess,” Podrick whispered, lips set into a deep frown. 

“Rickon.” Sansa said. She tried to continue, but all at once, she was back in that moment. She could hear the clicking of bones, the rasping of throats that could not speak, and the stench of death that clung to their bodies. She heard the screaming of the men that had died moments before, and how she’d told herself that if they opened that door, they’d die too but then they all almost had  _ anyway _ . She recalled how her heart was beating so loudly she was sure they could hear her like that. She remembered how hard she’d clutched the knife her sister had given her, nearly losing her grip two or three times, and how she thought that she was failing somehow, how she should have  _ known  _ or acted faster or-

She didn’t realize that she was inhaling rapidly and unevenly, nearly crying, until she felt a soft rhythmic circle being drawn upon her back. She turned to see Podrick. As soon as she turned toward him, he jolted his hand back, like he too had been unaware. Sansa didn’t know how to convey she hadn’t minded, how she wished he continue. 

“You don’t have to…” Podrick shook his head. 

“Rickon had only died a couple of moons before,” Sansa found her voice. She hadn’t told anyone this. Most of those that were cowering in the crypts hadn’t known Rickon, and surely Tyrion hadn’t. She hadn’t had the courage to tell Jon or Arya. Bran knew, likely, but hadn’t ever said anything to her. She’d been the one to handle it, not wishing that upon anyone else, “And while most of the dead that were brought back to life was just bones held together by magic, Rickon- my baby brother- he was almost…” She scrunched up her face, shaking. Shaking in anger, in agony, in sorrow. 

“It was Rickon, but it wasn’t. I could tell it was him, I could see it. He wasn’t just bones, it was his face and his hair and his freckles, but he looked at me, and he was just gone. And I almost had to destroy him...if Arya hadn’t…” 

“Sansa, you can’t,” Podrick struggled, “I wouldn’t want to come back down here either.” 

Sansa regained her breathing, breaking off a couple of feet, to Rickon’s grave. She should be so lucky, she thought, that the bones of Robb and her mother were just that or that the bones of her father had been scattered, despite the best efforts to return him home. She wasn’t sure she could have raised a dagger against them, even if their spirits had long since left. 

“Even in death, Rickon couldn’t find peace,” Sansa said sadly. She looked at the ground. The head of her father’s statue had been knocked off in the struggle, something awful and cruel about that. Podrick seemed to recognize this, for he swiftly grasped the statue from her, setting it away. 

He pulled her into a hug, and Sansa collapsed into his arms, trying to hold back her tears. She didn’t cry much, not more than a few moments, before she pulled herself together. 

“I should have asked, Queen Sansa,” Podrick said, “Before I touched you.” 

“Ser Podrick,” Sansa laughed, “I know you’d never hurt me.” 

She looked back at the ruins. 

“We’re going to make all of my family’s statues again. And, if anyone who died in the battle wants to be buried down here, we are allowing them. Lyanna Mormont will get a statue. Theon will get a statue,” She whispered, “They died for Winterfell, they are family.” 

She turned back, setting the torch back in its place.

“I fear that this trip hasn’t done much good, your grace.” Podrick said, looking up at her face. She was sure it was blotchy with tears, her nose and cheeks rouged, and her eyes wet. She dabbed her skin with the sleeve of her gown. 

“I had to go down there eventually,” She said matter-of-factly, “I’m not sure if I could have done it without you.” 

“I’m happy to help anyway I can, then,” Podrick said slowly, as though he was trying to connect two dots. Sansa herself was mulling over it, not sure what that equaled at the end of it all. 

It was, as she found herself back in her room, a thought she found herself lingering on for most of the night. 

 

_ XVIII _

 

Sansa woke much later than usual. One cursory glance outside her window, combined with the warm feeling on her sheets that only eclipsed during the bright mid-morning, told Sansa it was hours after she woke on a normal day. 

She nearly tangled her legs in the blankets as she jumped from her bed, muttering under her breath, feeling angry and embarrassed. She was Queen, it was improper of her to oversleep one of the first meals with her visitors! 

She cracked her door open, just enough to summon the current guard on duty. 

“Please fetch me Lady Snow,” Sansa said in a cool, even tone, already running through the strict words she’d have for her maid. It was Aedlayne’s job to wake her. Youngness was no excuse for mistakes of this magnitude. Great gods, didn’t anyone realize their Queen was somehow I explicitly missing? Perhaps an empty seat at the table this morning would have reminded the young maid, one would think. 

Sansa seethed as she brushed her own hair out. 

The door opened behind her, but it was Jeyne who entered her room. 

“If you’re here to beg for mercy on her,” Sansa said, turning, scowling, “She deserves to be reprimanded.” 

“Blame me, my Queen,” Jeyne said simply, folding her hands in front of her. 

Sansa turned, raising an eyebrow. 

“You see, when Adelayne was coming to wake you, I was with her by chance, and I realized it had been a long time since I've seen you so rested. I cannot recall a day you’ve had a deeper slumber. I told her to hold off waking you.” 

“It was not-,” 

“Sansa, you cannot continue on the hours of napping you’ve had, you surely realize. You’ll run yourself into the crypts before you’ve had a chance for anything good. Ser Podrick also informed me that you didn’t return to your room until hours past moon high. If you were awake longer, it would have been a pitiful sleep, at best.” Jeyne said firmly. 

At Sansa’s whitened face, Jeyne continued, “Whatever friendship you have with the knight, or why he’d know what time you went to bed...you know I could never judge you, don’t you?” 

Sansa bit her lip. She was so used to everyone exploiting knowledge that she had to remind herself. She gave a thin nod. 

“Fine, but it is very impolite to miss hosting my guests and-,” 

“I easily explained it. I said you had some important business to attend to and were terribly sorry you could not join them.” Jeyne said, putting on an act worthy of any thespian troupe. 

Sansa snorted, “They didn’t believe that, did they?” 

Jeyne paused, thinking, “I’m unsure. However, it does make you seem...aloof, mysterious almost. We both know boys find some strange pleasure in this.” 

Sansa sat back,  nodding. Jeyne wordlessly set out a dress for Sansa, unlacing the back. She helped Sansa clothe herself for the day. 

“Thank you,” Sansa said, “For allowing me to sleep. I don’t want to make a habit of it, though.” 

“Of course,” Jeyne readily agreed. 

Sansa met with some of the men from King’s Landing directly after, but Podrick was nowhere to be seen. One of the men- Brid, the man from last night- informed Sansa he was replying and making notes of the trip in the library, which Jeyne had indicated the previous night was free for him to use. 

They had not yet received a maester, so the library was empty sans the young knight, hunched over his work. 

“Ser Podrick?” Sansa asked, now in front of him, unsure of what to say. Podrick glanced up, grinning quickly, setting down his quill. 

“I hope you slept well, Queen Sansa.” 

“Yes.” Sansa kept the rest of what she wanted to say at the back of her throat; that she hadn’t been sleeping well lately, that she couldn’t recall falling so deeply to slumber, that the nights were the worst for her. 

From the bleary, groggy look on Podrick’s face, perhaps he too faced similar issues. 

“If I am bothering you, Ser Pod-,” 

“You don’t have to keep calling me ‘ser’,” Podrick interrupted her, not quite snapping, but from his expression he hadn’t meant to cut her off so swiftly. 

“But…” Sansa frowned, blinking, “You’re a knight now.” 

“I’m still the same Podrick as before,” He mumbled, less assertive in his tone, “Not much has really changed.” 

“You’re so much more than the boy I met squiring under Tyrion,” Sansa insisted, “I want to call you Ser. You deserve it, Podrick, more than anyone I know. Well, besides Ser Brienne.” 

Podrick shook his head, “Truly, I just happened to be lucky to learn from two extraordinary people, Queen Sansa.” 

Sansa narrowed her eyes, “If you are to ask me to stop calling you ‘Ser’, then by gods, stop calling me ‘Queen’.” 

“It’s much more improper not to than for you to skip my title,” Podrick argued, shaking his head. 

Sansa almost laughed. She wasn’t sure Podrick had ever fought before, verbally, but there was something nice about it. She knew they weren’t truly arguing, but to hear him so passionate about something was closer to normal than most other conversations she’d had. Ruling a land truly was dull at times, and those that did argue with her she often found annoying. Even Jeyne was careful with her. 

“I’m hardly your queen though,” Sansa pointed out, “And you’ve said ‘my Queen’ once or twice.” 

“You…” Podrick paused, looking up, “You may not be the Stark I serve, but that does not make you any less a queen. As I think Bran will likely have a male follow him, you are also the only Queen I’d ever serve in the little ways I can, the ways without committing treason.” He spoke each word carefully, which was fair. Sansa sat back, unsure how to parry back a reply. 

“Perhaps we will come to a compromise then?” Sansa finally said, “In private, we’ll do away with titles- no matter who is more deserving of their newly-minted prefix-,” 

“Unquestionably, you,” Podrick murmured. 

“And continue to refer to each other as ‘Ser’ and ‘Queen’ around others. However, you will have to stop saying ‘my Queen’,” Sansa said. She wished he could get away with it. Every time that he did, a part of Sansa’s heart lit up, as she imagined a world where he’d ridden back to serve her, not Bran, “You may lose your head, and we can’t have that.” 

“No, I suppose not,” Podrick sighed, “I agree, my Q-Sansa.” He winced. Sansa was surprised he agreed, but glad. Part of Podricks’ character was his rigid properness and loyalty. 

“I had a question, of you, a favor,” Sansa said after a moment, recalling why she’d sought him out. 

“Anything,” He said immediately, the word spilling out all jumbled together. 

“I haven’t yet picked my personal guard. I have Winterfell guards, yes, but picking out one’s personal set is a little more delicate. Anyone I trusted to guard me with a sword is either dead or sworn to another,” She could have sworn Pod winced, even just briefly, “So I am at a loss as how to pick the best men.” 

She paused, looking at Podrick imploringly. Podrick scratched his chin. 

“I’m not sure what you’re asking.” 

“I want you to aid me in picking them, or better yet, tell me who you think is worthy.” She held up a hand before he could protest, “You have watched Brienne pick for Bran, and I know that you’d have my best interests at heart. You may think yourself a knight only by luck, but that’s not it. You’re a fantastic knight; you should have been knighted ages ago. You know what it takes to be a good guard, so please, help me," she breathed. 

Podrick let out a quiet groan. She almost missed his words, whispered under his breath, as though he didn’t expect her to hear it. “It is alarmingly impossible to deny any of your requests, Sansa.” 

Sansa wasn’t sure how to proceed with that, so she just stood. She did not acknowledge or pretend she hadn’t heard it, instead just decided to leave and let him be. 

“I will have Jeyne deliver the list of men who have expressed interest to your door tonight, and the notes I had on them. I hope you’ll find time before you leave to help me.” 

But, even as she said it, Sansa knew he’d help.

She was sure she’d rest much safer knowing that her sworn guardsmen would be vetted by Podrick. 

  
  


_ XIX _

 

_ Dear Arya, _

_ That was completely inappropriate of you to send me moon tea! You should be glad only me and Jeyne open these letters...can you imagine the scandal that would have occurred? And, I’ll have you know, that if I ever find myself in the need of it, we still do grow it here.  _

_ I suppose I should be pleased; you sending me such indicates that you are taking precautions with Lord Gendry. Gods know I couldn’t talk you out of abstaining any more than I could broach the topic of him making you a proper ‘Lady’. If you feel such the overwhelming desire to sleep with him (and please, don’t answer that), at least you are being safe. Although, on the other side of the argument, I think we both know where you’ll end up. Having an heir early wouldn’t be entirely unreasonable.  _

_ On a different but slightly similar note...your continued efforts to have me sleep with a man is actually starting to get alarming aggressive and to be frank, a little concerning. I’m not even sure what people would think if they saw the letters we send back and forth to each other.  _

_ Is this what sisters talk about? I guess I wouldn’t even know… _

_ Love, _

_ Sansa _

 

_ Dear Sansa, _

_ Well, thank the gods that the moon tea plants survived! You know, I’d take it as a holy sign that they want you to have good, hot sex. You know, considering that most of the rest of the plants were destroyed in the battle. _

_ I’m not even going to talk about you saying I should have a kid. I think I want one, but...damn, there I go, talking about it. Let’s just put a pause on that for now, huh?  _

_ And come on, isn’t there anyone you’d sleep with? You may not believe it, but the whole of Winterfell would probably be very willing to sleep with you! It’s better if you like it too… _

 

_ Arya, _

~~_ Well, there is- _ ~~

~~_ You remember- _ ~~

~~_ I think that I- _ ~~

_ No. There’s no one I want to sleep with right now.  _

_ Love, _

_ Sansa _

  
  


_ XX _

  
  


Sansa didn’t know what prompted her to keep her budding relationship with Podrick a secret from Arya. Certainly, it wasn’t because she didn’t trust her. She trusted Arya above most people. 

Maybe because she wasn’t sure if there was a relationship to speak of. Not a romantic one, gods no, Sansa considered. A friendship, she foolishly steeled herself to think. She enjoyed Ser Podrick was a person and confidant, this much was true. She was looking forward to talking to him every day. She was already mourning him leaving, but reminded herself they’d still have letters.

Even with all of this, Sansa was unsure what it  _ meant _ . She knew exactly what Arya would say about it, so that may be why Sansa said nothing. Until she knew more, this was her secret to hold close to her chest. 

“Any men look good, Ser?” Sansa said, coming to sit beside Podrick, her fingers tracing lightly across his back. She saw how he stiffened, but after a moment- when her touch receded-his shoulders relaxed. 

“My Queen,” Podrick teased back, looking around the empty room. 

“Podrick, I mean, Podrick.” Sansa corrected herself, recalling their agreement. 

Podrick flipped through the scrolls, “Yes, to answer. A couple. I’d like to meet with them in person.” 

“Of course. Would tomorrow after we break our fast be acceptable?” 

“More than,” Podrick began to assemble the scrolls into three piles. Sansa guess it may be ‘yes, no, and maybe’, but she was unsure, “I don’t think any of these men are necessarily bad choices. I just think some are better than others.” He said, as Sansa watched him. 

“But you’ve ruled out some,” Sansa prompted. 

“Yes,” Podrick took a good long time to speak, “I get the feeling, though I may be wrong, that some men coming looking to serve you in...other ways. And they feel this is just a stepping stone.” 

“For marriage,” Sansa surmised. She saw a light blush on Podrick’s cheeks, but he nodded. 

Sansa hummed unhappily. She hated to be reminded that to many men, she was just a piece in a game to move around, a key to the North. She was the epitome of the North to some, but not all. It was so frustrating to be ruling as she was, but then have these boys ride in on horses with the expectation that Sansa would hand it all over to them. 

“If I’ve upset you-,” 

“No,” Sansa turned her head sharply, “You? Never. I just...marriage is a subject I don’t like talking about.” 

“Because of...right,” Podrick smartly trailed off before he listed her previous two marriages, and one near-marriage, “I’d imagine you wouldn’t be keen on jumping into one so swiftly.” 

“No.” Sansa’s voice had hardened to edge to it, “Yet, I field at least three offers a day. Not just from my own men, but the new Prince of Dorn sent me you one, did you know?” 

Podrick’s whole face was red, “I did not.” 

“I turned them all down.” Sansa didn’t think it needed to be said, but she did anyway. 

“Do you think you’ll ever marry again?” Podrick leaned onto the desk, his arms crossed inches away from Sansa’s. 

“I would like to hope so, and I would like to hope it would be out of love,” She said, words she couldn’t even bring herself to tell Jeyne, “I don’t know if I could bring myself to marry for duty ever again. Even if…” 

_ Even if it meant losing the North.  _

That was her worst secret, the one that clawed her up inside. For everything she’d done, for all the blood she’d helped to spill, for every awful act she’d been a part of...all for the North. She would give the North near anything, except a loveless marriage. Not again. Never again. 

“Did you ever imagine yourself to marry?” The words were leaving her lips before she was aware. 

“I suppose. It’s just expected.” Podrick said, blinking, but seemed a little caught off-guard. 

“I’m sorry. That’s rude of me to ask now. All things considered…” She found herself glancing at his Kingsguard uniform, visible under the furs to combat the coolness of the winter. 

“No, we all knew what we were signing up for,” Podrick insisted, “It’s a great honor. Besides, though we still can’t marry, King Bran has said that we are free to...take lovers,” He mumbled the last part, so softly that Sansa almost didn’t hear. 

“Oh?” 

Podrick looked uncomfortable discussing it but realized he’d said it already, and Sansa leaned in, curious, “Well, most of the guard was with someone in secret anyway. But King Bran sees everything. As long as it doesn’t interfere with our sworn duties, your brother didn’t want to deny us what most already did.” 

“Would you have?” 

The question is undeniably teasing, almost flirty. Sansa is appalled that she even asked. Podrick is the most honorable man she knows, she highly doubts it. 

He looks down, laughing a bit, though she’s not sure what's funny. It was entirely inappropriate for her to even say. 

“No, I wouldn’t have. You know that’s not me.” 

“I do. I truly do! I-,” Sansa broke off, so embarrassed, “You’re a good knight, Podrick. I don’t know why I’d even wondered.” 

“No harm done,” Podrick said, meeting Sansa’s eyes, “Truly.” 

He was smiling at the corners of his lips, a soft look that made Sansa relax. 

She firmly kept the next question in the back of her throat though, unsaid. The question that she simultaneously wanted to know and did not want to know. The idea of knowing, either way, made her queasy, but not in a gross sort of way, but a way Sansa could not place. 

_ Now that Bran’s lifted the rule, will you partake in sexual pleasure?  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really honestly hoping for some zombie!Starks in the battle episode, because like how emotional would that be? But honestly, how did no one think of that? ARRRRG *breathed deeply, tries to forget last season happened*


	5. Chapter 5

_ XXI _

 

There had come to be a whole group of girls that worked and lived at Winterfell. Sansa would hire a female over a male applying any day, but truth be told, most of the women were the ones looking for work as it was. The men were all trying to rebuild their family houses, settle down, and celebrate the end of the war and the end of winter. 

Still, there was a disproportionate number of girls whisking their skirts through the halls.

Often, Sansa enjoyed this. They were far better servants than men and half the time, though most were low in status, Sansa felt like they understood each other on an instinctive level. 

Therefore, while at the end of days of her father and brother’s rule the men had gathered in the great hall to drink to their finished duties, it had become common for a whole host of females to be seated in the wooden seats, sharing sweet mead and swapping daily stories. 

“You should show them their place!” One Lord had once told Sansa. Sansa got the acute impression that their being there was messing with his ‘male-bonding’ time, leaving him unable to make rude japes about the size of a woman’s tits that he fancied. How droll for him, Sansa thought bitterly. 

“You’re right,” Sansa had said, blinking hard with faux shock, “Ladies? Those chairs over there are so dreadfully uncomfortable, and so far away from the fire. Would you like to come closer to me?” 

Men should know by now not to invoke Sansa’s sharp-witted anger in any which way. 

Therefore, though Sansa was not formally a part of their possey, they were in ear-shot length away for Sansa to hear what they gossiped about. 

Most nights, Sansa would say she enjoyed it. It thrilled her to hear that the fort life was returning to such normality that the girls could have time to giggle and tease one another about the farmer’s son or the squire or give each other advice about what dresses to wear. Plus, Sansa had learned from the best. A good ruler always knew what was happening her halls, this was no exception. So, Sansa was very much aware that the girl who made the most flavorful bread was trying to catch the attention of one of the stable boys, that the girl who washed linens had previously been obsessed with a boy in the town outside until she discovered that he kissed with far too much saliva and that the style of what boys seemed to prefer was one pulled in tightly at the waist.

A man might tell Sansa it was all trivial things, not worth her time. Sansa disagreed. One never knew what may be important until it was. 

Since the arrival of King Bran’s guards, the girls had been talking about them non-stop. Sansa was pleased to hear that while there was some caution, most of the girls trusted them. Or, trusted Sansa enough to not feel fear. They recalled that the king of the 6 kingdoms was indeed a former Northerner, and on the whole, they still trusted Bran to a certain extent. 

Plus, knights from afar was pretty much the subject of every courtly romance ballad. 

“I heard from Dyra who heard from her sister that her best friend has never been so sexually satiated,” One of the girls said, commanding the silence of the rest of the girls. Sansa was intrigued, though no more than usual. 

“He slept with her, aye, after the Battle of Winterfell?” Another girl confirmed, eyes wide. 

“He did! Of course, no one thought he was that much of a looker, but Casak is as beautiful as a god, and he’s got something no bigger than a minnow between his legs,” The girl pointed out. 

“I second that!” One of the slightly older girls jumped in, “Not about Casak- though, how disappointing- but there’s a girl in the town who used to live in King’s Landing at the brothel, and she tells stories all the time of a dark-haired squire who amazed the house so much that no one would take his money!” 

Sansa rolled her eyes; whores refusing coin? This was clearly just superstition. 

“I’ve heard it too! From other girls he’s entertained. I didn’t put the pieces together until now, but he’s the best lover any girl has had,” The girl speaking patted her redding cheeks, “Do you think it’s because he’s...large?” 

“Well, Drya says that’s only part of it. He made her unravel three times in one night. Three! Most times, with my husband, I’ll be lucky to get one.” 

“Oh, Gods,” A girl near Sansa’s age sighed with longing and lust, “He’s only going to be here a little while longer. I wonder what my chances are?” 

So, it was obvious they were talking about someone from the guard’s group, though Sansa had mostly gleaned this herself. She tilted her head, going through the men who had arrived, wondering who it might be they were talking about? 

“It will be hard to get him alone. He’s a very busy man.” 

“Meets with Queen Sansa quite often,” Another agreed, obviously not realizing that Sansa was quietly picking up on every word they said. They probably thought her engrossed in some proceedings in front of her. 

Sansa frowned. There was only one member of the guard that spent a great amount of time with her. Surely, they could be-

“All I know is that I’ve heard it japed that perhaps his last name should not be ‘Payne’, but should be ‘Pleasure’!” This sent the girls sitting together into a fit of laughter, leaving Sansa shocked. 

The first thing that rose up in her was indignation. About what, she was unsure. Was it because she disliked their implications that he was not handsome? That she was offended they were talking about him like that? Or was it some other reason Sansa could not quite grasp, something that made her feel warm and unsettled all at the same time. 

 

_ XXII  _

 

When the group broke the fast the next morning, Sansa realized a quarter-way through that she was staring very obviously at Podrick. Podrick had been talking with one of the men the whole time, and it wasn’t until he accidentally caught her eye that Sansa came to the conclusion that she’d been boring holes into his skull for quite some time. 

She forced a smile, then looked away. 

Gods above, she didn’t want to look at one of her dearest friends differently, but the gossip from the girls yesterday was hard to shake. 

In staring at him like a scared deer, Sansa had decided at least one thing. All those ladies had no clue what they were talking about. Ser Podrick was most definitely attractive.

Yes, maybe not conventionally. She would fire back that she could line up ten ‘conventionally’ attractive men and find something very wrong with each of them. But she wouldn’t ever claim Podrick to be ugly. On the contrary, his warm chocolate eyes, his soft and slightly sleep-mussed hair, and his strong jaw had been very visually pleasing to Sansa for a long time. She would even venture to say that she found him handsome before the girls challenged that, but she hadn’t realized. Hadn’t realized how fast her heart leaped when he sent a smile her way or when they two of them exchanged dry jokes in her solar while working out parchment issues. 

So, there was that decision. 

On the second level, Sansa found her eyes straying from just his face. She was horrified to discover she was disappointed that the table covered him from the waist down, but her brain still found other ways to keep her interested. She stared at his large hands and careful fingers and wondered what sort of magic those worked. She found herself entranced by how his tongue flicked out to lick his lips, a very non-sexual motion that left her shaking and the areas between her thighs dampened, and she watched as his body twisted and wanted nothing more than to unwrap and discover what lay beneath. 

Damn those women, she mentally cussed, damn them. Now, Sansa couldn’t stop imagining Ser Podrick as a sexual partner. What she couldn’t decide if it were worse or better was that she not only was imagining it, but some part of her deeply desired it.

“Queen Sansa! I must show you something in the kitchens,” Jeyne said, grasping her hand. 

Once outside the halls, Jeyne leads Sansa away from the kitchens.

“But-,” 

“I had to get you out of there. I surely noticed that you were staring openly at that knight, and how your cheeks flushed. Mayhaps it is because I’m a girl, and men would be too thick to notice, but I doubt you’d want anyone else to make the same conclusions I had.” 

Were it any other friend, Sansa would have been furious for anyone saying such a thing. Now, she just raised an eyebrow. 

“And that is?” 

“You are thinking, what some may call, very unladylike thoughts about Ser Podrick,” Jeyne answered firmly. Sansa could not even deny it. 

She watched her friend’s face for a sign of displeasure but found it blank.

“What do you think of it?” She asked softly, asking not as a queen, but as a friend. Jeyne mulled over her thoughts. 

“I think that it’s a precarious undergoing, should you choose to take it. However, I cannot deny that he is a good man, that at the end of the day, that is what I’ve always hoped for you. What I hope for anyone, but most of all, you deserve something unquestionably good.” 

Sansa gave a thin nod, “I will be sure to take that under consideration,” She said, although a part of her heart was already pulling her one way. It was just a matter if she’d let it.

She ended up missing the time after the first meal her and Podrick often spent together. She could not avoid him all day, not without raising suspicion. As she had not decided which way to go, that wouldn’t be good at all. 

It was after sun high that she came across him sparring with some of her own men in the courtyard. She should have kept moving, should have continued on her way. As it was, Sansa was unable to force her feet forward, no more able was she to tear her eyes away.

Ser Podrick moved like a wolf. 

That was truly the first thing she thought. 

He moved with powerful, calculated strides. He was comfortable in the slightly snowy dirt. She had not to doubt if he were with a partner, he’d be working with them, a well-practiced team. He wasn’t making over-confident motions, not like she may expect a Lion to do- but was biding his time. His strength wasn’t in his brute force or ability to terrorize his opponent, but instead, it was in his mind, his smaller form, and his perseverance. 

“Ser Podrick is an excellent fighter,” Randin commented, “Even I cannot argue with that.” 

“Indeed,” Sansa said, her gaze watching as he ducked and attacked with ease, “He did fight in many wars. He was taught by some of the best.” Still, she recalled the days he wondered if he’d ever be able to hold a sword without shaking. How far he’d come. 

“War turns boys into men,” Radin said sagely, something Sansa knew all too well, “It also turns girls into women, my queen,” He added. For as many times as Radin may not agree with Sansa, she understood at that moment unspoken fealty. More than that, an acknowledgment of her strife, of the horrors she’d gone through. She may not have had to kill men in the fray of battle, but she’d fought many demons and came out on top every single time. 

“Or, perhaps,” Sansa said, thoughtful, “It merely allows us the opportunity to become what we were always meant to be.” 

“You always will have your father’s blood,” Randin said, which was near close to an agreement, “I meant to find you to discuss the armory’s state when you have a moment.” 

“I’ll meet with you in a few minutes,” Sansa said, “At your solar.” She did not want to admit she’d been on track to grab another book when she’d been very much distracted by Ser Podrick. 

Randin bowed, leaving her there. Just for a moment. 

Sansa allowed herself a single second longer to try to commit this second to memory; his heaving chest, his sweat-soaked skin, and a grin somewhere between joyed and feral. 

Then, before she did something very stupid and not thought through at all, Sansa turned.

She completely missed Ser Podrick staring back up at her with the same expression in his eyes, just a moment after she started walking away.

 

_ XXIII _

 

_ Dear Sansa,  _

_ I cannot be sure when this will reach you. Chances are that by the time you read this, I will have already departed.  _

_ I have decided to travel with Tormund and the other Wilding beyond the wall to help them rebuild their society. By the chance that I will die on this adventure, or maybe chose to never return, I wanted to remind you that I love you. _

_ Your brother, _

_ Jon _

 

_ Jon, _

_ Please, don’t.  _

_ I have lost too many of my family already. I beg of you, it was hard enough to send you to the wall, but the idea I may never speak to you again is too much to bear. I understand your pain brother, I do. I just beg you to reconsider.  _

_ I don’t want to be left alone.  _

_ Perhaps it’s already too late. Perhaps you have already left. _

_ There is so much I wish to tell you, so much I want to ask. _

_ I had wanted to write to you, but put it off due to my own fears. I realize now that maybe I’ll never get your answer. _

_ I suppose this question may hit close to your heart, but I would be glad of whatever truthful response you can give. _

_ How did you reconcile falling in love with someone you probably knew you shouldn’t? Someone...not of our own kingdom? And, after all, was said and done, would you do it again?  _

_ Please do not leave me forever waiting, wishing for an answer. _

_ If you know what’s good for you Jon, you’ll return. Lest I have to come out there and drag you past the wall myself.  _

_ Love, _

_ Sansa _

 

_ XXIV  _

 

“I cannot recall a time I felt so alone,” Sansa sighed to Jeyne as she helped brush out her hair. She’d requested her friend today, feeling small and a little lost, “Even when I was at King’s Landing, I knew that people loved me, that people were trying to stay with me or get me back. But now…” She looked at her hands, “Jon is leaving, possibly forever. Arya says she’ll return, but how can we be sure? And Bran? Well, he has been gone a long time.” 

She caught Jeyne’s eyes in the mirror, “Not that I don’t adore you, however,” She winced. 

“I understand, m'lady,” Jeyne whispered quietly, “You had thought that four of you had survived, and that was better than most. It doesn’t feel like it, does it?” 

Sansa did not answer, because it was an unspoken truth. 

“This is why I fear to let Ser Podrick in,” Sansa murmured, “He’ll leave, like everyone else. He must, as he’s bound to my brother. I will be left feeling more alone than I began.” 

Jeyne paused, setting the brush down, “Is that so? If you never had him, you’d be caught up with the same emotions. Is it not better to have him in the small moments you can, instead of wondering but never having him at all?” 

Sansa was quiet. She did not have a reply for that. 

She just wanted people to stop leaving. 

Jeyne finished with her hair, today settling it in an old, but a familiar, braided pattern. As the pair exited Sansa’s room, there seemed to be a great commotion coming from the Great Hall. 

Inside was a gathered group of Sansa’s bannermen. They were all talking over each other, each raising their voices louder to be heard. 

“My Queen!” Randin said, motioning her over, “Gawen Glover came in with a split lip and bloody knuckles.” 

“He did?” Sansa frowned. He’d been one of the men who had applied to be part of her guard. She’d had good hope for him, “What happened?” In her head, she imagined it was a brawl between brothers, perhaps. 

“He will not say. We are unsure if it’s one of our own or…” Randin trailed off. Sansa nodded swiftly. She knew what the Master of Arms was not saying. 

“Jeyne, would you please escort Gawen to the kitchens to clear him off? No use stirring the pot by having him sit out in the open,” Sansa decided swiftly. 

“And you?” Jeyne asked. 

“I will get to the bottom of it,” Sansa said simply. 

Once Gawen had been escorted out, Sansa told the men and her advisors gathered that she would come to the bottom of this, and to have them go on about their day. It was a minor scrape, at best, and hardly something to throw such a fit over.

She walked to Ser Podrick’s room first. If it were one of his men, who had probably gotten into a scuffle over a game of cards or maybe just the tedious peace some kept despite her direct orders, he’d surely be able to figure it out. If it was, it was out of Sansa’s hands. If it were one of her own men, she’d have to sternly talk to them. There could be no room for stupid male ego at this point.

She knocked thrice on Podrick’s door. 

“Ser Podrick?” Sansa cleared her throat, “I just came from the hall, where Gawen seemed to be a little bloody, and he-,” 

The door swung open. Sansa had about to finish up by asking if he’d heard anything about it but paused mid-sentence. 

Podrick was dressed in just a light shirt and a pair of trousers, his usual armor strewn about the room. He was pressing a cool rag to his face, and even before he dropped his fingers, she could see the bruises blooming at his eyes and his broken nose. A light trickle of dried blood dropped from his nostrils. 

Sansa gaped for a second, unbelieving that Podrick Payne, of all people, got involved in a fight. Maybe he was breaking it up, she thought. Maybe Gawen had been drunk and Podrick had been in the wrong place. Maybe-

“So, he told you,” Podrick said wincing. 

“He didn’t...I hadn’t…” Sansa stuttered, “He said nothing. I wasn’t even sure if it was one of your men or mine. I had come to see if you knew anything…” She trailed off, unsure. 

Podrick invited her in. After a second, she accepted. It was Sansa who closed the door behind them, though, firmly pressing the latch in. 

“What happened?” If ever there was a time for Sansa to use her queenly commanding voice, this was it. 

Podrick sat on his bed, wringing out the cloth before dabbing at his nose. 

“I acted...foolishly,” He admitted after a second, “I threw the first throw.” 

Sansa blinked, her brain trying to process it, “Podrick, I-,” 

“I’m sorry to have done so, m’Queen.” 

Sansa wasn’t even upset by the title, she just stared at Podrick imploringly. 

“I imagine you don’t hit people without good reason,” She said after a second, her voice dry. 

“He...Gawen made an inappropriate comment about my closeness to you while I was sussing him out. He apparently did not take kindly to the fact a Southerner was choosing your guard.” 

“How dare he?” Sansa spat, furious, “Who is he to question how I choose my men?” 

“I did not want people to think that you were being...inappropriate with me, Sansa,” Podrick said simply, “Thought I don’t usually condone hitting, it was a matter of honor.” 

“He should not have been making such accusations in the first place!” Sansa hissed, “Well, I know who I will  _ not  _ have guarding me, of all the-,” 

“On the country,” Podrick interrupted, “His loyalty to you is unwavering. It takes a brave man to address such things, and without fear. I was the one who lashed out, I was the one who acted rashly. I know that he cares for you, and the success of the North, deeply. However, as far as I can tell, he means to not usurp or attempt to marry you. I would entirely suggest that if you are looking for a man to be your number-one guard, look no further.” 

“But I,” Sansa floundered, “He hit you.” 

“I think I deserve it,” Podrick gave a short laugh, “I should not have done that.” 

Sansa played with the rings on her fingers, “I’m surprised you hit someone, over me.” Podrick was rarely violent, even in battle, if he didn’t have to. 

“As I said, it was foolish. It was something I had thought of, and I should have kept it so.” Podrick said, “But there are few things that make me more furious than I can control. When someone insults Ser Brienne, and when someone insults you.” 

“Still.” Sansa rasped. 

She came to stand by Podrick, pulling him up to stand. She took the cloth from his hand, setting it beside the bowl. 

“My Queen?” 

“You’ll get more bruises if you continue to call me that. It’s probably treason,” she murmured, half-teasing. 

“The sweetest of temptations, I should say,” Podrick replied, looking none too sorry about it. 

Sansa leaned up, unsure of what she was doing until she placed her hands on his cheeks. She rose on the tips of her toes to press her lips softly to his. Podrick only took a moment of surprise before he had grasped her, leaning down and kissing her back. His kiss was equally as tender, but still warm and genuine. It wasn’t the crass making-out that Joffrey had always insisted upon, his tongue only traced the outside of her lips. It did leave her wanting someone more than she’d ever wanted any man before.

Podrick pulled back first. Sansa wished she were bolder, more selfish. She wished that Podrick had pulled her down onto the bed. She wished many things.

“Sansa?” He asked, staring at her with a mixture of awe and surprise. 

“Bravery always deserves a reward. I often feel that I am spoiled by your honor and loyalty to me, despite it all.” 

“You deserve more than I can give you,” Podrick muttered softly, “But not for lack of want.”

Sansa, despite the circumstances, gave a soft smile, “I’ll take whatever you can give.”

  
  


_ XXV _

  
  


In the remaining days that Podrick and his caravan had left at Winterfell, Sansa managed to sneak but a handful of kisses from him. It was usually in an empty hallway, in an alcove against the wall, always too short and too reserved for what Sansa knew she was feeling and she hoped he was too. He was always a gentleman; his hands stayed firmly in safe places- on her waist, on her cheeks, wrapped around her neck. Sansa wondered if he was respecting her space by not reaching for her arse, or if that’s not the sort of man he was in the first place. 

As far as Sansa knew, no one had ever seen them.

It was not that Sansa was naive to think that no one did when everyone actually did, it was that she was keeping her ears and little birds busy more than ever. So far, nothing. And this would certainly be all the gossip she’d hear for days if it were true. 

With each passing day, Sansa’s affections grew more, but also did her sadness. 

“I’ll write you every day,” Podrick promised quietly. Sansa thought he would, but it wouldn’t be the same, now would it? Not when she had no fear that he was kissing other ladies in halls or that Bran would suddenly retract his permission. And Bran! Did he know about the two of them? Did he immediately know everything, or did he have to search for memory or event specifically? The so-called ‘rules’ of being a three-eyed-raven were a little confusing to Sansa, not that this was any changed from before he became King. 

All her anxieties she told herself she’d simply have to put to rest. Sansa did not like to fly her own parade flags, but Podrick was tied to a Queen. There wasn’t anyone in the land that had that sort of clout. If he betrayed her for a common palace lady, it would be his loss. 

Still, a deeper part of Sansa knew Podrick to be one of the truest knights in the land. She reminded herself she had nothing to fear concerning straying loyalties. 

Sansa longed for the freedom of a young girl, someone who could sneak in and out of storerooms with her lover, and no one would be none the wiser. While Sansa wasn’t completely sure she would have done anything more with Podrick than the kisses they currently shared, the fact that they didn’t have the opportunity to explore that frustrated her. She wanted to be able to decisively choose to take things further or not on her own terms, not because someone was coming around the wall and would see them. 

On one hand, she was a Queen. Why sneak around? 

But on the other…

Well, she knew well enough to be careful with this. At least for now. 

He seemed to be packing up to leave all too soon. Sansa’s stomach churned like she’d had bad wine all night, leaving her tossing and turning. She nearly forced herself to his room many times but kept herself in bed. By morning, she was almost sure she regretted it. 

Sansa helped the party load up the carriage and mount the horses. She carried a box from her study, out to the gates. 

“Go on, ride a little up the road. I will catch up. I am just having some parting words with Queen Sansa and about future visits,” Ser Podrick told his men evenly. Sansa too dismissed Randin and Gawen back to the gates.

They could not kiss on this open field, but Sansa saw in his eyes that he wished he could. She felt that. All that could be done was that Podrick reached out, taking a hand in his softly, squeezing it gently. 

Even though it was chilly, and the air that hit their cheeks was chilly, she knew the gathering redness on his face was not due to the cold. For Sansa had long ago gotten acclimated to the feeling of the air here, but she too was blushing furiously. 

Podrick gave a soft, quiet smile. It said everything Sansa was feeling; the excitement of this new venture, the unsureness of how it would work later, the nervousness when you liked someone, the longing and how neither wanted Podrick to leave…

Sansa’s fingers brushed over the box. She half-expected to feel guilty for feeling such things with Theon right in her fingers, but instead, she felt free. She knew Theon would want her to be happy.

And, in a sense, she was starting to be. Still, it reminded her of one of the reasons she’d pulled Podrick by himself.

“I have a favor to ask,” Sansa whispered, looking down at the box. Tears gathered in her throat, “This is...it’s...Theon.” 

“Sansa,” Podrick gave a soft sigh. They’d spent a night discussing Theon and the night before that battle, and while perhaps Sansa had never admitted anything outright, she got the impression Podrick understood. 

It was not a sigh of disappointment, it was a sigh of someone wishing that he could ease her hurt.

“I told Yara I’d sent back half his ashes. His armor too. It’s fair.” She pressed the box against her chest, as though Theon could feel her warmth for him somewhere in the great beyond, “And I haven’t wanted to send it out with just the daily salesman walking through. This is...it’s…” 

She pressed her lips together.

“Sansa,” Podrick stopped her, “Of course I’ll make sure his bones return to her.” 

“I know it wouldn’t matter to him, but he’s  _ in  _ there, and I just,” Sansa didn’t want to let go. She wanted to steal it back away, damn the consequences with Lady Yara. 

“Sansa, I will take care of Theon.” Podrick spoke firmly, but also tenderly. She could feel all the unsaid things in his tone, the acceptance about whatever dying feelings she had for the ginger-haired prince, and for how he understood Sansa’s grief. It was the kindest tone Sansa had ever heard, so reassuring, so absolute. 

“Thank you.” There was so much more that Sansa wished to say, but found herself unable to. 

There was a quiet moment when the only sound was the winds whipping over the moors. 

“I will miss you,” Sansa whispered, almost leaning forward, but stopping herself, “Deeply. Sincerely.” 

“As will I,” Podrick agreed, “But, I promise, I will be back.” 

Sansa felt herself smiling despite this was the day she watched him leave, “I don’t think you can go about proclaiming such promises, Ser. I’m not sure it’s up to you.” 

“I swear to it,” Podrick said, “If I could swear on my sword right now to you, m’Queen, on this promise without eliciting some questions we may not want to answer, I would.” 

“Podrick,” Sansa almost whined, as she’d hate to get her hopes up to never see him again. 

“Sansa, listen to me. I will do whatever it takes to return.” 

“And if you die?” Sansa couldn’t help but ask. All her life she’d only seen death. So many people left her for the next, leaving her behind, hurting. 

“Then I will assuredly return as a ghost,” Podrick didn’t pause, “And haunt the halls of Winterfell forever.” 


	6. Chapter 6

_ XXVI  _

 

_ Dear Queen Sansa, _

_ I hope this letter finds you well. It has only been a few days since we left Winterfell. We stopped at a small inn town somewhere between there and Moat Cailin. It is somewhat what I am used to after the days of riding with Ser Brienne. Your brother’s items are well guarded and the horses are being well cared for. _

_ Of course, we were looked at when we arrived a bit warily. We may not be boasting Targaryen or Lannister flags anymore, but it is natural for the people of the North to distrust the Crown King, especially now that you are not part of King Bran’s territory anymore. However, once we mentioned that we’d been staying with you, the inn-mates brightened considerably. Queen Sansa, you are a bright shining sun to the usual dreariness of the people, it’s very obvious to anyone with eyes. They just adore you. The little girls, giggling as they played with their dolls, asked what sort of dresses you wore and the young men inquired if you were hiring guards. Our host for the night extolled your graciousness and intelligence and discussed how he had taken his wife to see Winterfell not long after your crowning.  _

_ You once mentioned to me that you fear you are not doing much of anything in Winterfell, but Sansa, you are touching people’s lives in incredible ways.  _

_ I would hate for you to ever forget that. _

_ Yours truly, _

_ Ser Podrick _

_ \-- _

_ Dear Queen Sansa, _

_ After a week of travels, we have reached the Twins. Your uncle Edmond has given us a place to stay and is a tad bit happier to welcome us than most of the towns in the North.  _

_ It has hardly been a handful of days, but it feels like eons. Traveling is tiresome business, as you well know. The package that you entrusted with me stays as safe as the moment you pressed it into my hands. It stays beside me always; I have never let anyone else dare go near it.  _

_ He would appreciate it, perhaps.  _

_ I long for our daily talks in your solar. I long for conversation with you about anything; it can be dull conversing with the same people day in and day out or navigating tedious wordplay with the royals or peasants. I feel as though with nearly everyone, sans Ser Brienne and Tyrion, I am forced to think quite hard about what I have to say and what I should not. You are the third exception, and frankly the person I find the most enjoyable to talk to.  _

_ I would do anything to be able to return to the halls to talk with you face-to-face again. After having the luxury of that, perhaps I am too forward, but letters seem flat and uninspired in comparison. _

_ Yours, _

_ Ser Podrick _

_ \-- _

_ Dear Queen Sansa, _

_ We took a detour on the request of King Bran to see how Lord Gendry is settling in. As someone who has risen through the ranks, I know that it can be overwhelming at the least in the start. Plus, Gendry has always seemed like a fine fellow and I was glad to have an excuse to visit him again. I think we may have even become friends during our overlapping stay in Winterfell before the battle.  _

_ I suppose I knew from talking with you that Lady Arya would be there, yet a part of me was still taken off-guard. Maybe I just miss you. She is quite different than you are; but I see that you both have the same quick wit. Hers is just a bit more...loud. I sparred with her (and lost, but you two are the only ones who are ever allowed to know that). She’s quite the swordswoman! Ser Brienne will be thrilled to hear that. You know how she has a soft spot for the two of you. _

_ Gendry has been the best host so far, and every night has been great feasts and warm memories. He seems to be settling in fine, no doubt with help from your sister. There are minor things; such as forgetting which fork to begin with, but no one would dethrone him for such frivolous reasons. Or, so I hope.  _

_ It will still be a long while before the Red Keep is in our sights.  _

_ On the nights in which the journey home seems too long, I remember I would gladly do it to you without a complaint. And, I just think of your eyes as I look at the stars and it makes it a bit more manageable.  _

_ I suppose that’s enough poetic waxings for one night. _

_ Always, _

_ Ser Podrick _

_ \-- _

_ Sansa, _

_ Bran’s new Kingsguard just stopped off here, Ser Podrick. The skinny one who used to puppy-dog shadow Brienne and Tyrion? I’m sure you know what I’m talking about… _

_ I totally kicked his ass in a sparr. I mean, and this never leaves you and me, he gave me quite the fight. Gendry’s usually the only one who can give me any of a challenge, and it’s just because he’s tall and strong (the big meanie). Podrick, I thought I was going to throw to the ground in two seconds flat. Instead, he kept me on my toes! I guess that all that following Ser Brienne around and...what, filling her water glass? Polishing her armor? Whatever it was that he was doing, he picked something up. Some good things. He’s an actual competent fighter and maybe he’s not so skinny? Thank gods I spar without an audience because I’m sure some of those stupid simpering servant girls would have fainted at his chest. It’s not as impressive as Gendry’s. I guess I’m just biased.  _

_ I guess I can see why Bran wanted him to be part of his guard now. It’s stupid, but of course, I worry about Bran. He may be king, but he’s still our brother. A part of me will rest easier knowing that he has Brienne and Podrick to watch over him. Sure, he’s sorta weird now and I’m never sure how to talk to him, but well...ah, you’ve always been better at this sappy emotional shit than I am. I’m sure you know what I’m getting at.  _

_ Anyway, they just left. Probably will be another fortnight to King’s Landing. He wanted me to inform you of that. I mean, I guess you did send him home with important stuff, so it’s only fair that you’re well informed.  _

_ As you know, I’m nearly complete with building my boat. I’m so excited I can hardly breathe, but I’ll be sad to leave Gendry. He’s sad too, but he knows he can’t tie me down.  _

_ But still, sometimes, maybe I wonder… _

_ Nope, nope, nope. I’m not even going to think that. Sigh.  _

_ Anyway! Enough of that, I’m thrilled for this opportunity and my ship is totally magnificent looking!  _

_ I’ll try to send off a couple more letters before I leave. _

_ Your favorite fighting sister, _

_ Arya _

 

_ XXVII _

 

Sansa hugged the letters to her chest. She’d just stopped off at the raven’s post where the birds coalesced and found a great many letters attached to their legs. 

This was hardly a surprise. On average, there were thirty letters sent in and twenty letters sent out via the ravens, so the landing post had to be increased of late. What had Sansa so twitterpated, however, was the gleaming seal from King’s Landing with the Kingsguard crest.

It could have been from Ser Brienne, sure, but she performed a standard and simple cream paper to write her letters on. Plus, they were always rather succinct- as was her personality. 

This paper was a ruddy light brown, the color of parchment that Podrick always wrote to her on. She had a growing excitement that this meant he was finally home.

When she thought about it, this wasn’t something she was thrilled about. She’d rather him here, obviously. Still, to have him home meant one of two things. The first was that he was one day closer to returning, something she counted down (even if she was unaware of the exact days). Second, it meant she could finally return his many letters.

It seemed to her, and she doubted it was incorrect, that he’d written her once a day at the very least. His letters were always warm and heartfelt and longing. She was sure no one had intercepted them, but if the did, she also realized that Podrick never implicated Sansa in his clear affection. It was obvious that he fancied her from the way he wrote about her hair or her smile or her freckles in the letters, but he never included anything to indicate that she felt similar. If this all went sideways, Sansa could just say that he was besotted and it was unrequited. 

They’d have to be delicate about this going forward. All Sansa wanted to do was reassure him that she was having similar silly fantasises about the flecks of gold in his eyes or his warm hands or his tousled black hair. 

She felt like a little girl again with how such a simple missive reduced her to smiles and flushed cheeks. She hoarded the letters protectively, locking them deep in a chest of drawers for her to return to when she had a bad day or was missing him something terrible.

As he’d mentioned in his letters, it was the little things he missed. The very simple things. The laughing in her solar, the book recommendations back and forth, the japing about inconsequential items. It was like having a best friend, like talking to Jeyne, except for the simple fact that Sansa also missed sharing soft, chaste kisses with him in the shadowy halls. She surely did not wish to do those things with her Stewardess! 

She heard footsteps coming from her direction. Sansa stashed the letter she’d specifically gone to collect in her sleeve, straightening her back as she drew away from the smitten look on her face. 

“Sirs,” She said, nodding to Randin and Wylis as she passed.

“Actually, my Queen, we were looking for you,” Randin said, wringing his hands and biting his lip. Sansa crossed her arms. 

“You both look like you’re about to tell me that the Night King has risen again,” Sansa commented blithely, taking in their pale and nervous faces. 

“Oh, no! Not that,” Wylis rushed to assure, and Randin nodded next to him.

“Then, I can hardly imagine what would have you two looking so fearful?” Sansa said. 

“If we could go to your solar, Queen Sansa?” Randin suggested. After a moment’s deliberation, Sansa nodded once.

She seated herself at her comfortable chair, placing her clasped hands in front of her as the two men settled themselves a couple of chairs away. She was internally pleased to see that neither of them sat where Podrick always sat when they were together, the seat directly to her right.

“Well, as you do not have a Hand of the Queen yet,” Randin began, coughing slightly. 

“It is something I do not intend to do lightly,” Sansa said sharply. But, with a little bit of honesty, she hadn’t been putting a whole lot of consideration towards it. She had Jeyne most of the time, which served her fine. 

“As is right!” Randin quickly agreed, “But we do feel it is our...duty to discuss some things with you, as you have no one else to. It is a delicate matter.” 

Sansa resisted the urge to groan out loud or to rub her temples. If she were to make a list of all the things she wanted to do all the way down to the things she did not want to do, listening to whatever Randin and Wylis were about to say would be pretty close to the bottom. Perhaps only beaten out by something awful like cleaning out the horse muck in the stalls. What she was itching to do was tear into Podrick’s letter, devour the words. It was rolled many times, meaning he’d written her the equivalent of a whole tome. She couldn’t wait to see what he had to say and to reply back to him. Then, she wanted to go and eat some biscuits with Jeyne while they sewed some dresses with some new fabric she’d just received. 

She had no clue what they were going to say but Sansa already knew she would hate it. 

“It has been a few months since you have been coronated…” Wyllis began, trailing off, looking at her.

“Yes. I can count, Lord Manderly,” She said tiredly, causing the younger Manderly to turn a little purple. 

“Of course, yes! Well, point being, erm, we were perhaps wondering if you’d thought about children or a husband?” 

“What about them?” 

Sansa wasn't stupid. She knew exactly what they were getting at now, but she’d be damned if she didn’t make them sweat and work for this. They were foolish and out of place to bring it up anyway. 

“Well, you know,” Randin said, making a vague hand gesture, “Every Stark has been married by the time they took the seat, most with an heir already born or on the way.” 

“So you wish to sell me off as a broodmare, then? Have I not been a good Queen?” Sansa trained her expression on the two, hoping to make them squirm, “Shall I be expecting a coup?” 

“My Queen, we only say because we wish to keep you seated! You must know the villagers are whispering, wondering.” 

“Then let them. They should learn to be disappointed sometimes.” 

Sansa was usually not so curt with these two, as she knew they were doing things in good faith, but she was entirely done with this conversation and it had hardly even begun. The only person she’d entertain the idea of a union with she could not have, not in that way. So. 

“You know if it was your brother we’d be telling him the same thing if he were unmarried,” Wyllis said. Sansa bit the inside of her cheek. She did think that this was truthful. If anything, they may be badgering one of her brothers more. Still, Sansa relented. 

“I am Queen. Don’t you think I know well enough to think of such things?” She said, acting like this had crossed her mind. It hadn’t, but it surely would now. 

“We do not mean to question you…” 

“Quite right. That’s hardly your job,” Sansa reminded, trying to sound firm but gentle, “I would suggest that you both actually return to your jobs before I become unhappy with either of you.” 

Wyllis got up quickly, clearly wanting to leave this conversation. He knew what was good for his health. Randin, who was a bit braver, stuck around.

“I’d implore you just to consider it,” He said with a quiet whisper, “We only just regained a Stark on the throne. We’d be beside ourselves if we lost that.” He pointed out.

“I will,” Sansa said, completely honest, “I will think about it.” 

As much as she did not want to consider such things, maybe Randin and Wyllis had done their jobs. They’d put the thought in her head and it would not budge. 

 

_ XXVIII _

 

“-And I know that if I got a husband, who's to say that he wouldn’t completely dismantle everything that I’ve tried to do here? I’m quite content by myself. I have all of my subjects as my children, that’s what it feels like, and-,” Sansa pricked her finger on her needle, realizing she’d messed up her sewing for the thrice time. Cussing, she ripped out the seams, re-threading the needle and collecting the delicate beads into her palm, “So, anywa-,” 

“Sansa,” Jeyne said, setting down the snow lily she was embroidering, “Please, for the love of the Old Gods, shut up.” 

Sansa was stunned into silence. She stared at her friend, mouth gaping. For the first time, she had no idea how to respond to something directed at her, although a barrage of sputtered anger queued in the back of her mind. All she could slip between her gritted teeth after a long second was a quiet question. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

Jeyne reached to her, grasping her palms. 

“Dear Sansa, as your loyal subject, I have heard you endlessly complain about your meeting with Lord Cerwyn and Lord Manderly for three whole days. And I’ve endured it with nothing past a smile and the occasional ‘oh, yes’,” She pointed out, “But as your friend, I am telling you that you’ve been putting two days more into this than it deserves. So, please.” 

Sansa reeled back. 

“And,” Jeyne continued, “You keep working yourself into a flutter. You’ve nearly destroyed three pieces of your new dress, saved only by your skilled fingers and intelligence. I mean, look at that right there!” 

Sansa looked down. Indeed, the small bit of fabric she’d been sewing together was punctured many times over, the seams continually torn out from her mistakes. As it was, she would need to sew this into the back. It was far too frayed at this point to put where someone could see it. It had been one of the fabrics she’d been most thrilled to use, too. 

She frowned, hunching her shoulders. 

“I just am frustrated.” She finally said, though it sounded very stupid coming from her lips. Jeyne snorted.

“Yes, I know.” 

“I don’t like the idea of being told that I need to marry and when,” Sansa said and then held up her hand, “And yes, I know that it’s traditional for that. I just thought the North was about moving forward, doing better?” 

Jeyne chewed on her lip. She had the same expression as Radin and Wyllis. Sansa narrowed her eyes.

“Not you too,” She groaned, shaking her head. She got up to pour herself another goblet of wine, knowing that she’d need it for whatever Jeyne was about to say. 

“If you were to die, who’d take over the Throne?” Jeyne asked logically, “If we say that it’s a Stark, then there are only really three options, isn’t there?” She held up three fingers, “One; Arya. But we both know that if she survives her cross-oceanic travels, she’ll come to her senses and marry that Baratheon Lord. Two; John. He’s been exiled and it might incite a war to bring him back. Three; Bran and the North is just absorbed into the Kingdoms again, and we’re right back where we began. So you see, while their method of delivery has much to be desired, the issue is very valid.” 

“I guess I hadn’t seen it like that…” Sansa trailed off, her brow deepening. Great, just another thing for her to worry about, “So, I see the point in needing an heir. But to be married? That would just make me someone else, not a Stark. And I’d worry that they’d be attempting to control the castle for other reasons.” 

Jeyne picked back up her hoop, seeming more relaxed having gotten that off her chest. 

“You’re in good health and we’re not at war. I wouldn’t spend endless nights up about it, but I would be aware of it. I hope that we can truly move forward and you can marry for love.” She looked down, almost afraid to ask. Whatever it seemed her next words were going to be, Jeyne swallowed them back. Sansa honestly did not know and did not want to push her friend. 

“You did give me something to legitimately consider,” Sansa admitted, “I would have not been so upset had it been given to me like that.” She said, thinking back to how callous the announcement and the quick argument had been. 

“It’s something I’ve heard a few people whisper about. I can’t claim that I’m knowledgeable about many other things. I do think you need someone you really can trust as a Hand soon, though,” Jeyne said kindly, “So that in the worst case, they could take over until we get sorted. So, it needs to be someone you could imagine taking the throne.” 

“Yes, this is the issue.” Sansa said, no closer to thinking of her choices, “So, now that you’ve put me in my place, am I allowed to complain at all about it anymore?” She could readily admit that she was a judgmental and sort of dry sort of person. She liked complaining about things to friends. Jeyne narrowed her eyes.

“Absolutely not. You have better things to complain about than that, surely.” 

Sansa shrugged half-heartedly, but couldn't help but smile. When she picked up her dress, she managed to nearly make it to the end of the time set aside without another incident. The frustration and worries were staved...at least momentarily. 

 

_ XXIX _

 

Sansa sat in the crypts, her warm cloak pooling over her shoulders and engulfing her in warm and soft fur. The lanterns were lit around the faces of her family that rested down here; most, to be honest. Still, she was frustrated and in need of some guidance.

She’d heard tales that something about Winterfell was inherently magical, something unknown and ancient and reeking of magic that now lay beyond the wall. 

If that were true at all, Sansa sorely needed it.

She did not expect the statues to actually talk, but she’d be lying if she claimed she wouldn’t have been thrilled if they had. She, more than ever, needed actual advice from her family instead of the guesses of what they might say that she entertained in her mind. 

She had thrown away worries of husband and heirs for now. After Jeyne’s discussion with her a fortnight ago, she hadn’t spared so much of a passing musing to it. What was weighing heavily was her still-empty Hand position. 

She was half-tempted to just be done with it and name Jeyne...but she knew she could not. Not because Jeyne was a girl, but because Jeyne was not someone of a particularly high-born status. She just didn’t have the knowledge of how to navigate difficult political dances the way a Hand should, nor had she been expected to memorize great numbers of house family trees, crests, histories, and other necessities. 

Her father had been Hand for awhile. There were many days that Sansa wished they’d never left. Perhaps he would have been spared. Perhaps her family would all still be alive? 

However, she had to admit that her father had been an excellent hand. Too good, which was what had led to his death. 

Robb had been a King in wartime, so he’d never gotten around to asking anyone. She supposed that her mother was as good of a hand as he had, and she too had been an excellent choice.

Arya would make a shit hand. She was a fantastic sister and confidant, but her answer would be to stab any problem that came her way.

Sansa’s only choice thus so far was Jon, but he was not answering any of her letters. She feared he’d done exactly as he claimed he would. She was sure he’d gone out past the wall, and only the Gods knew if he’d ever return. 

Honestly, if her brother Bran had not claimed Tyrion, Sansa would have been tempted. She did think that he wasn’t as smart as he’d once been, but he was still a clever man. Plus, she enjoyed his company and discussion, so he would have been a fine advisor. 

Sansa groaned, letting her head rest back against the rough stone. 

“Any advice, at all, would be wondrous,” She muttered at the solemn, silent statues, “I need someone I know that I can trust. I need someone that believes in me as a Queen and isn’t just trying to replace me with the next able-bodied man who comes along. I need someone clever and true, someone who will look out for the realm...even if it means being a little honest with me sometimes.” 

Sansa waited for an answer, but the only thing was the wind whistling around the caverns. 

She bit the inside of her cheek, tracing the contours of each face with her eyes. Her father, her mother, to Robb, to the half-completed statue of Theon (Sansa insisted they stand side-by-side) and finally to Rickon.

Sansa’s one pain was that she never knew Rickon as the young man he’d grew into before he died. She always imagined him younger, hardly five, because that’s how he was when she’d left. To imagine that he’d grown up with Bran and become a person with feelings and opinions and thoughts were strange to her. Had he been sarcastic like Arya? Quiet and true like Jon and Robb? Funny and clever like Theon? Broken and rebuilt...like her? 

She could ask Bran, but she doubted she’d get much of an answer. 

But he hadn’t been alone in his travels before he died, there had been others with him.

Sansa shot up straight. She gathered her items hurriedly, husting through the quiet halls to Jeyne’s room. 

“What?” Jeyne groaned from the other side, pulling herself out of bed to answer, “Oh! My Queen. I wasn’t expecting you so late.” 

“I think I know who I shall ask to be my Hand,” Sansa said, pushing into Jeyne’s room without pause, “I feel so stupid for not realizing it before! Seven hells, I feel stupid!” 

“Who?” 

“I mean, she rightly deserves it. And her father’s still alive so she’s not expected to be the Lady of her house yet. He’s in good health, so it may be years before she’s called back. But my father was still the head of the Stark house and the Hand so there’s no reason we can’t work it out.” 

“Sansa, who?” Jeyne repeated, rubbing her tired eyes. 

“I hope she accepts. Gods know that Bran was incredibly rude to her. I should have thanked her or asked her to stay, at least. I was younger, more concerned with other issues, of course. I think we could be great friends, but I think she’d be a wise addition to the team as well. I need to find some paper...do you have any?” 

“I will give you this, but only if you tell me who exactly you’re writing to!” Jeyne huffed, opening her chest of drawers with a loud sigh. 

Sansa blinked. In her ultimate excitement, she realized she had not yet spoken the name of her intended Hand. Her thoughts had come so swiftly upon her, and she’d known that the name had yet to be spoken. Sansa reached for the paper, her mind already formulating the query she’d have sent off by dawn.

“Meera Reed, of course!” 

 

_ XXX _

 

Sansa and Jeyne told no one that they'd sent a letter off. No one knew the worries about the Hand plagued her, so it was not as though people were chomping at the bit to know who she was choosing. She was sure that Wyllis may bring it up in the next small council meeting, but she hoped to announce Meera long before then.

She would be so glad to only have to listen to Randin and Wyllis’ concerns with their own jobs and not their thoughts on every other issue. They weren’t without reason, but with the proper channels, they’d tell Meera who would then tell Sansa. 

Except, Meera had not written Sansa back yet.

Sansa knew it took a raven two days to fly if the weather was bad. Apart from a chill in the air, the skies had been clear, so there should have been no reason that the raven never delivered the letter.

After that, though worry clawed at Sansa’s chest, she told herself to give it a couple of nights. It was a momentous choice. No one should make it lightly. It was more than fair for Meera to have a handful of days to decide.

Still, after a fortnight and a half with no communication, Sansa was worried. 

After all she’d done for Bran, Bran had dismissed her without so much of a thank-you. They’d spent years together and he’d tossed her out like she was lesser. Thinking back upon the incident now, it enraged Sansa to no end by his cruelness. She feared that Meera had taken that very personally, as was perhaps her right, and she would serve the Starks faithfully, but no further. Maybe it made her sick to think of serving Sansa, the sister of the person who’d spurned her. 

Jeyne was nervous too. They both knew that Sansa had come a long time choosing this person and neither was sure who her second choice would be. Her mother had always warned Sansa to never put all her eggs in one basket, but here she was. 

Maybe she should have pleaded, adding that Meera was her only choice, and guilted her into coming? No, that’s not how she wanted this relationship to start. She wanted Meera to come because the girl chose to, not because she was ordered or felt it was her duty. 

“You seem anxious, m’Lady,” Gawen even said one day, “Your mind is a thousand miles away, I should think.” 

“There’s much to think about, as there always is,” Sansa said with a soft smile. What she wanted to say was that her mind, which was usually drifting somewhere in King’s Landing, particularly to where the Kingsguard had their quarters, was now splitting it’s time at Greywater watch too. 

It was nearly a full moon after sending the letter out that Sansa was tapped on the shoulder by Gawen. 

“My Queen, there is a small assembly arriving at the gates.” 

Sansa frowned. She almost went to check to see that she had not missed anyone important arriving in her ledger, she was sure that the next expected arrival would be Alys, and she was not for a whole week. Unless the girl had moved up her timeline and somehow forgotten to inform her Queen, which Sansa doubted, this was a surprise. 

Down at the gates, there was a small commotion. Sansa arrived just as Randin was intercepting the leader of the group. It was a mess of curly hair atop a lean figure. Sansa felt her breath leave her and then joy fill her. 

“Lady Reed-,” 

“I’ve told you already, I’m hardly a Lady! Spirits. If you continue to call me that, I’ll show you how little of a lady I truly am!” 

Sansa preened. Arya would love her if she ever returned back. 

Randin looked hardly ruffled. He was used to dealing with Sansa, a very uncommon Queen, after all.

“Then what,” he asked, his voice tight and tired, “Do you expect we call you?” 

By this time, Sansa had made her way to the front. Meera met her eyes, a bright glimmering light shining on the girl’s face. She bowed a little to Sansa before sending a glance back at Randin. 

“Hand of the Queen should work just fine.” 


	7. Chapter 7

_ XXXI _

 

_ Sansa,  _

_ As you may have been able to count, yesterday marked the day that my ship was completed. True to form, it has indeed reached the proper time for me to set off. _

_ It feels like truly no time has passed since all of the things in our hectic lives went down; the Battle of Winterfell, Daenerys burning King’s Landing, Jon being exiled, Bran chosen as king...me and Gendry...but it’s also been a long time coming.  _

_ I know you asked me in one of your previous letters to consider whether or not this is what I truly want. And oh, a part of me ever so much does want it. _

_ I have this thirst, this itch in my feet. Maybe it was always there or maybe I picked it up when I was Arry, or when I was No One. Maybe I picked it up traveling with the Hound or with Ser Breinne. I’m not sure. All I know is that a part of me feels as stifled by these halls as Cercei was by the ceiling (too soon?).  _

_ You know me though, if I’m writing you an honest letter- which I promised myself I would try to do- I make jest of the situation because deep down, I am afraid.  _

_ I am afraid of many things, which I know, might seem impossible. I am human, and thus, things scare me. Not as much as things once did, but I would be lying to pretend like there weren’t thoughts that kept me up at night.  _

_ What if I face danger that I couldn’t have predicted and it nearly kills me? What if it does? What if there’s nothing out there and there is a fool’s errand? What if I regret it immediately… _

_ What if I never want to return home?  _

_ I think that’s what scares me the most. Not that you’ll simply never hear from me, but that I’ll be enchanted by what I find out there and forget about all that I’m leaving here, mainly you and Gendry and Jon. Honest, if Jon is never found again, Gendry came with me, and you were dead, I’m unsure I would be tempted to return at all.  _

_ Maybe it’s good there are ties that tether me to Weseteros. I feel as though that in my time alone I got a bit muddled. I had no one to answer to except Death himself and my mind started to change. I think it’s good to have people reminding me that I am needed and loved and still some part of me is a beating heart. It reminds me that I am not invincible nor am I made of stone. I am Arya Stark and I love my homeland and I love you and I love Gendry and bugger, I should really say all of that more often.  _

_ Gendry gave me a bit of his shirt to tie on my necklace I made. It still smells like him. Like fire, musky and deep. I wish I knew how to keep that scent there forever, so that any time I missed him I could let it come over me. As it is, I have a feeling the smell of it will wear off within weeks.  _

_ I sent a message to Jeyne a little bit ago. I asked her for one of your ribbons. You may have not been able to find your favorite lately. That’s my fault, I have it. I wanted something of you too. I guess I didn’t want you to say no. And you always claimed I wasn’t sentimental, huh?  _

_ I would like to say that I will return it one day.  _

_ I think I just need to see what’s out there. If I condemn myself to living in a palace as a wife without ever trying, I’ll always be haunted by the ‘what if’. You may think I’m barmy, but I have to do this.  _

_ I will be able to sustain myself, barring any catastrophic damage to the ship, for three years. I think that’s enough time, wouldn’t you say?  _

_ I’m unsure if I’ll ever be able to write, but if I find a post that I can easily return to, you’ll be the first to know. Okay, that’s a lie. You’ll be the second. Gendry will be the first.  _

_ On the topic of Gendry… _

_ Watch out for him, yeah? I told him he was free to marry someone else. It would be terribly unfair of me to expect him to sit twiddling his thumbs, waiting around. I would get it. It would break my heart, but I’d get it. _

_ So if you see that he wants to be happy but is holding onto me, tell him it’s okay.  _

_ But if he isn’t, if he insists on waiting like the stubborn bull I know he is...remind him that I love him whenever you can. And be the me I can’t be. Defend him to the other lords, if you are able. Help him flourish and become the Lord I know in my heart he can be. He’ll be a truly great leader.  _

_ By the time I return, I hope he’ll have settled and I’ll have settled and things will just be easier. We’ll be together and that will be that and I’ll be so happy. I’m no seer, but I can almost see that.  _

_ This is getting dreadfully long.  _

_ By the time you receive this, chances are I’ll have already cast off, looking toward adventure.  _

_ Sansa, my sister, you deserve the world too. _

_ When happiness comes to knock, let it in. Let yourself feel, let yourself have something good.  _

_ I wonder if you’ll scoff at that. But I hope that the next time you’re about to let something go on the principal or because you feel as queen you should, especially if you want it, try doing the opposite.  _

_ I hope to see you again. _

_ With love always, _

_ Arya _

 

_ XXXII _

 

It seemed that Sansa’s life was on constant watch by the gods and that balance had to be kept.

The moment that she gained a companion, Meera, she lost Arya to her travels and the sea.

A very small part of Sansa had always hoped she’d call it off, but now she was simply...gone.

The day Sansa received that letter, though she’d felt it in her bones that it was going to arrive any day, she hadn’t even made it out of the raven croft before she opened it with shaking fingers.

Then, by the end, she felt entirely empty. 

Meera was the one who found her when she missed dinner, her legs haven crumpled beneath her and her chest heaving and hurting. She was curled against the wooden post, holding the letter and crying. She had tried to stop it, remind herself that it would be most unbecoming to be found in such a state, but she couldn’t stop these tears. That void inside of her, the one she’d felt at the death of her brothers, had taken hold once again and left her a small, whimpering child. 

“She might be back,” Jeyne cooed after Meera and Jeyne helped Sansa into her room, “She’s a good traveler, you know that. Intelligent and quick-witted. I doubt anything could take her down.” 

Sansa wanted Arya to come back. She needs her back. Even if she was all the way in the Storm Lands, having her easily reachable by letter or a couple day’s journey by horse was enough.

If Sansa’s siblings were pieces of string held fast in her fist, Arya was the last one to break away. Bran had been gone since he’d returned to Winterfell as the Three-Eyed Raven. Jon’s had unraveled the moment he went past the wall. And now, Arya. They were all still alive the threads still in her hand, but she was unable to reach out to any of them in a significant way. 

Sansa was once again the last Stark standing. 

She was truly hating this emerging pattern. 

Sansa didn’t reply to Jeyne, just curled up on her pillow and stared out the window with a sort of despondent expression. She’d felt the cold fingers of this unhappiness before, but never so far-reaching, never so chilling. 

She wanted Arya here. She wanted Jon back. She wanted Bran to be more normal. And she wanted...she wanted Podrick here to talk to him, she realized with a small jolt. She wanted him just as much as she wanted the rest, perhaps on equal levels with the longing for her sister to return. 

She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. Podrick would know what to say, but she hadn’t found the words to tell him about Arya’s departure yet. 

Jeyne attempted to nudge her out of her bed the rest of the evening, but soon Sansa grew tired of it and dismissed Jeyne, claiming that she just needed to sleep. She saw the shadow of disappointment and hurt on her friend’s face, but her Stewardess left her with her swirling, dark thoughts. 

That night, Randin and Wylis came to check up on her. Jeyne had cited a stomach ache that had left her incapacitated. Sansa didn’t even need to fake a look of pain on her face and her two bannermen had left her to her rest.

Aedlayne had come bearing the dinner that she’d missed and had been delighted when Sansa had managed to have a few bites of it. The poor girl clearly thought Sansa was inches from death. To assuage the girl’s fear, Sansa had made more of an effort.

Jeyne could have brought this food up. Sansa had a feeling that Aedlayne had been sent specifically. Cunning.

Gawen had insisted on keeping vigil outside of her bedroom. Usually, as her day-time head guard, he took the night off and one of the other men in her circle stayed by her door. Tonight, however Gawen told her it would be a bad omen and bad form to sleep while his Queen was battling such woes. From his expression, she half-wondered if he knew it wasn’t a sickness of the body, but a sickness and loss in the mind. 

The only person who did not come by, wringing their hands and fussing over her, was her Hand, Meera. She helped Sansa to her room and then seemed to all but vanish. 

In fact, she didn’t arrive all night. She did not come knocking on Sansa’s door until mid-day of the next, and it wasn’t a worried social call. 

“It’s time to get up, my Queen,” Meera announced, throwing open the curtains. Light spilled onto the wooden floor, the harsh brightness causing Sansa to wince. 

“I cannot. Please, leave me to myself, Meera.” She said quietly, rubbing her red-rimmed eyes and wallowing back into her self-pity. 

Meera grasped her blankets next. 

“Meera!” She gasped at her, at the audacity to take her queen’s soft warmth so violently and dump it on the ground.

“Sansa!” Meera repeated back in the same tone, “You have things to do today.” 

“I-,” 

“No, Sansa, listen to me. You may kick me out after I say this, but I will say it,” Meera announced with such a tone of confidence that even Sansa was encouraged to silence. However, that’s how Meera was.

The girl fit into the castle so seamlessly it’s like she’d always been there. By day two of her job as the Hand, she’d already knew the names of everyone in the castle. By day five, she knew who was with who and what business she needed to know. By day eight, Sansa was pretty sure she had her own ‘little birds’ that reported to her. She fixed problems without Sansa hearing about them until after the fact and answered thoughtfully and intelligently. There were some items that while Jeyne, for as good as a Steward as she was, floundered, Meera excelled. She was a most magnificent Hand, if Sansa wanted to be proud of herself, but mostly she was glad to have such a sharp-witted girl at her side.

Until right now, of course.

Still, Sansa snapped her jaw shut and glared at Meera with the force of the sun. 

“Losing your family is awful. I would know. And I get it; in a lot of ways, knowing someone’s dead is better. You don’t have expectations they may or may not come back. You don’t have to worry, you just have to ride out the emotions. So yes, this is a trying time and yes, you should be worried for Arya. But to what end? Are you going to let your sister- who clearly gave not as much consideration for anyone else- and your worry for her rule over your entire life? Are you going to hide yourself away because of this? Are you going to never get from your bed again?” 

“No, of course not!” Sansa growled, “Don’t be silly.” 

“Then when? Today, tomorrow, a week, a month?” Meera implored, leaving Sansa without an answer, “No, it ends right now. You had a day to be sad. As a Queen you promised certain things to your people,” Meera gave her a sad smile, “So, frankly, one day is all you can afford.” 

“I can afford whatever I wish,” Sansa said sourly. 

“If that were true, I’d let you about three more days before I told you that you were being overly dramatic. But it is not true. So,” She grabbed Sansa’s hand, forcing her onto the cold stone ground, “It is time for you to get ready for the day. Wipe away those tears, keep Arya in the back of your mind, but move on. She obviously is.” 

Sansa frowned, having not considered that. All those that she felt like we're leaving her were just doing what they set out to do for themselves. It was a very selfish life some were leading, but it was something Sansa had gone the other way with. She’d become Queen. She’d given herself to her people. 

And Meera was correct. She could not allow herself to be selfish; not now, not ever. While most did not realize it, a Queen gave up much too.

Perhaps if Sansa inserted herself into more of the Kingdom, she’d start feeling less lonely. 

“I suppose you are right,” Sansa said slowly, “But this is the only time you’ll hear me say that.” 

“Aye, I wouldn’t want it any other way,” Meera said. 

“Thank you.” Sansa added, a tad softer.

Meera bowed, inclining her head, “All in a day’s work of being a Hand.” 

  
  


_ XXXIII _

 

_ Dear Gendry, _

_ If I think that I am having a rough time with Arya’s departure, I cannot imagine what you must be going through right now. I’ll admit I was wary about your intentions toward my sister at the beginning, along with how you two would work in the world past war, but I cannot imagine a better man for her.  _

_ I know how deeply you care for her and, if she does not say it often enough, she loves you more than you could imagine.  _

_ We are tied now through Arya. I want you to know I respect you a great deal and I think that out of most of the Lords that have taken titles in the remaining kingdoms, you will truly always do what is best for your people. Not just the highborns, but the average, the under-dogs. I feel as though that Storm’s End is in the best of hands that it could possibly be.  _

_ But I understand the difficulty of ruling.  _

_ While I may not be under King Bran’s rule and my land is sovereign, I am writing to reach out my assistance to you whenever you may require it. I have no desire to conquer Storm’s End and because these are Arya’s people in a sense, I wish them only the best. I’m sure you have your advisors, but if you ever feel as though you need a bit of uniquely Stark-Sister advice, I’ll write back promptly. No question is too dim or request is too large. I know I’ve made a fool of myself with many a thing, and I grew up as a Lord’s daughter! It’s in the pursuit of becoming better so I’d be cruel to deny you such.  _

_ On a more personal note, I want to offer my heart. Not romantically, but as a kindred spirit. A good sister, one may even say (you and Arya are nearly married as it is, so I’ve heard).  _

_ I have to have faith Arya will return, but it will hurt that she is gone. I want us to get through this together. It might be how we wait.  _

_ So, if you also just ever need someone to talk to, write to me. About Arya, if you want to complain or tell funny stories or hear about her childhood, write. If you just want to tell me how your day is going, and pretend I’m Arya for a second, write. If you need reassurance someone else is out there, write.  _

_ I will be there for you Gendry as a confidant and friend and someone who loves Arya too.  _

_ Please, do not hesitate. You will always have a friend at Winterfell. _

_ With sisterly love, _

_ Sansa _

_ \-- _

_ Dear Sansa, _

_ I just heard about your sister leaving. I wanted to write away. I’m so sorry. _

_ I guess we knew she was planning on it, but I cannot imagine the pain of losing her. I guess in this way, I was lucky to be an only child.  _

_ Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?  _

_ I know my options are limited here in King’s Landing, serving King Bran, but if there was anything you requested of me… _

_ She’s tough. I have to think she’ll find her way back, probably with a whole host of new scars and even more somber eyes.  _

_ Still, and please do not think me rude or out of line, but I am rather astonished that she left at all. She and Gendry...they are...together...the two of them… _

_ Words rather escape me. It’s not so much something I can articulate but rather it’s the feeling of watching them together. _

_ And she just gave that up?  _

_ If I… _

_ Well, I’ve said what I feel, though you may hate me for it. _

_ I obviously wish her safe travels, but I’m always more worried about you. _

_ Podrick _

_ \-- _

_ Deer Sansa, _

_ I usaly have Arya red my lettrs and corect spelling. I only recently learned too red and rite. Of late, Iv had Ser Davos skribe or edit.  _

_ This was a lettr I wanted no one else to cee. It is a matter of the hart.  _

_ Exusee my langage, but- gods- I fuckin miss Arya. I miss her so much it herts. I canot expres myself to much in front of oters, but I do feal comfortble admitting this to you.  _

_ I am knot sure what I wil do without her.  _

_ She was my north starr. She gided me and taght me all I currently know. Its not jus tat I miss her smile or her jokes, but I miss everyting about her.  _

_ Tere are days I almost due not want to get out of bed.  _

_ She was my person. Due you undstand? I do knot kow how to say it in any oter way. _

_ Tese years will bee tortre. It does make it beter to know I have a frind in you.  _

_ Somewon may warn me tat its unwise to trust you, but I know I can.  _

_ So… thank you. _

_ With broterly love, _

_ Gendry _

_ P.S. Srry for the bad speling. It will get beter over tyme.  _

_ P.S.S. Wen Podrick stoped here. Arya never ses love untl it wacks her on the fayce, so she did not se it. But I did. He is a kind boy. Plase do not brek his hart. Just consder tat.  _

_ \-- _

_ Dear Sansa, _

_ I regretted adding that part about your sister as soon as the raven flew off. I’m glad to hear you were too terribly offended. Love, you’re right, I suppose was the word I was looking for. But a special love. A deep one.  _

_ I grew up around Lannisters. As you can imagine, not a whole lot of true pure love there. Toxic, the lot of it, warped how one should think about things.  _

_ The first time I think I truly saw people in love was Brienne and Jamie.  _

_ But that’s ended.  _

_ And so has Arya and Gendry.  _

_ I cannot help but feel jaded. I suppose I’m not in a position to even be considering such issues, but I cannot help but be truthful and honest with you about my emotions. The confliction of it all. I know that you will not judge me (at least, not harshly), and I cannot recall someone I've ever felt so comfortable with discussing such things. Even with Tyrion...it was not the same.  _

_ It’s strange to me to imagine we were both in King’s Landing together for such a long time, but never talked. When you were married to Tyrion or engaged to Joffrey and I had just begun under Tyrion, we hardly acknowledged each other. _

_ If I had known then about how wonderful you are, maybe things would have been different. It almost upsets me that we had so much time together without knowing it and now we are separated by so many things.  _

_ I guess I’m just in a strange mood tonight.  _

_ I apologize this letter is more half-hearted ramblings than any real news.  _

_ Yours, _

_ Podrick _

_ \-- _

_ Dear Queen Sansa, _

_ Your sister’s departure has been rough for many in the castle. Although we all knew about the ship being built, I think few believed she’d go through with it, especially after many of us were sure she and Gendry were set for the altar soon.  _

_ While many will not admit it, it has darkened many’s moods, including my own. _

_ You know I have come to care for you girls in a way that I cannot imagine how I went without this sort of affection before. It’s almost motherly, or an elder sister. As such, my worry for Arya keeps me up at night. My worry for you is always there, but at least I am lulled to sleep knowing you are being kept safe at Winterfell. Ser Podrick informs me that you have a good guard with you, so I can sleep easier.  _

_ If you need to talk, I am here. _

_ Love, _

_ Ser Brienne _

_ \-- _

_ Sansa, _

_ I have received Theon’s bones. As promised, they were delivered perfectly. More than perfectly. The courier was very specific about how they were to be treated and how he should handle them. His spirit was honored in that.  _

_ Although, imagine my surprise when I inquired about it and the direct orders did not come from you, but from Ser Podrick? I will admit that I didn’t think Ser Podrick knew my brother at all. _

_ He came home eventually, Theon did. How he managed to come here I suppose I cannot be upset with the method. He has been put to peace on my end.  _

_ I heard about Arya. Sorry. _

_ Hopefully, we’ll never be needing another occasion to write again, _

_ Lady Yara _

\--

_ Dear Sister, _

_ I’ve obviously heard the news about Arya leaving. While I’ll admit it may be unwise of me to direct my attention toward the seas, I find myself searching to make she’s okay, more often than not. As a side note, Jon is fine too, though he never did receive your final letter and I’m unsure he ever will.  _

_ I wish I could see Arya returning. The part of me that is still Bran, the brother, and not the three-eyed-raven, very much wants nothing more. Still, she has survived worse conditions. I think she will prevail and return.  _

_ On the topic of returning, you may have heard that I am to be coronated in two days. Likely by the time this letter has reached you, the process will have happened.  _

_ I will be coming back to Winterfell in two month’s time, if you will allow me to return. I will likely stay at least two months. I will be making a round of all the houses with my kingdom’s reach, and I will admit I would be upset not to be able to return back to my childhood home perhaps one last time.  _

_ Reply your answer. _

_ Your brother, _

_ Bran _

 

_ XXXIV _

 

There was giggling in the kitchens. As Sansa returned to her room, arms full of letters from a whole array of people, she was paused by the sound of high-pitched laughter that was infectious. 

Sansa would recognize that laugh anywhere. Jeyne’s joy about certain things could not be contained and she partook in the enjoyment of life often. She seemed determined to like what she could. Sansa knew the bell-like trill from the back of her throat was only when she was laughing so hard she was close to crying.

The other laughter, however, was foreign. It was low and earthy and rumbling, unquestionably a man’s voice. 

Sansa paused at the door for a long time, arguing with herself if she should enter or not.

She was curious who Jeyne was having so much fun with behind this door. It wasn’t the laughter of a male-female chumship, it was something reminiscent of a pair of people who trusted and loved each other. More than that, didn’t Sansa- as Queen- have a right to know who Jeyne was consorting with? 

On the other hand, the hand that was Jeyne’s friend, Sansa almost let it be. Jeyne hadn’t mentioned anything about catching feelings. If she did or had, Sansa hoped she would trust Sansa as a person enough to tell her, not out of obligation. 

Sansa weighed the dilemma in her mind for about three minutes. 

In the end, her sheer wonder won her over as she cracked the door open. 

Jeyne sat on the end of the preparation table, her face and hair covered in flour. She was dissolved into amusement, unable to even articulate sounds. Around her looked like the sorry attempt at making bread, though Sansa wouldn’t have called any of it edible. The floor had more flour than anywhere else, as it looked like winter had come early this year. 

In front of Jeyne, collapsed in a similar state of unstoppable glee, nose and cheeks smudged with flour dust, was her faithful Lord Commander Gawen Glover. 

Sansa stared, uncomprehending for a second, feeling like a voyeur from the smitten looks the pair were sending each other. The entire rest of the world, or the open door, did not exist for them at this moment. Every time they seemed to be catching their breath, they would look at each other and then erupt back into laughter again.

Something warmed and simultaneously ached in Sansa’s heart. 

“You have a spot right there,” Gawen managed, placing a hand on her cheek to wipe away the flour, but left a handprint in its place.

“You knave! I don’t know how I’ll ever get clean again,” She said, but it as clear from the warmth in her voice she did not mean her insult. 

“Well, I’d say I have a few ideas.”

Sansa, in that moment, realized that she was about to hear some things she perhaps did not wish to hear. She went to backtrack quickly and quietly out of the room, holding the knowledge to her chest to consider what she wanted to do with this later, when the door squeaked as she attempted to slide past it. 

Gawen and Jeyne both startled, looking up.

“My queen!” Jeyne nearly fell from the perch, looking red and flustered underneath the flour, your “We were just...I…” 

“I asked Lady Poole to show me how to bake bread, my Queen. We, err, well-,” Gawen floundered as well. 

Sansa held up a hand, quieting the pair. They looked at Sansa like she’d just caught them with their hands in the cookie jar, awaiting punishment. 

“How long has this been happening?” Sansa asked, trying to say so kindly. 

“Ahm, well,” Jeyne knitted her eyebrows, “I’m unsure. One day it just..did.” She said with a hint of shame. 

“I will not let it inhibit my duties, my Queen!” Gawen insisted, “That is if you find it within your heart to allow us to continue.” He added, wincing. 

Sansa felt her heart thump a little. She looked at Jeyne, sighing. 

“Jeyne, does he make you happy?” It was hardly a whisper. 

“More than anyone else, Queen Sansa,” Jeyne admitted, looking at Gawen with such heartfelt emotions that it made Sansa hurt. 

“I am so happy that you are contented,” Sansa said, meaning it honestly, though she couldn’t help the quiver in her lips, the loneliness creeping up inside of her. 

“Are you sure?” Jeyne said, “Sansa,” She grasped her friend’s hands, “You tell us, we stop it all.” 

“No, I couldn’t. I would never,” Sansa gasped out, trying to will away her own feelings, “How could I deny you something so wonderful in life, something that makes you shine so warmly?”

“I have real intentions with her,” Gawen said after a moment, his admission seeming to surprise even Jeyne, “I’m not sure what she wishes, but…” He gave a crooked smile, “I cannot quite see myself desiring a different wife.” 

Jeyne gasped, covering her hands over her mouth, looking rapidly between Gawen and Sansa. Sansa tried to keep it together, but tears were leaking from the corners of her eyes. 

“Is that a proposal, Ser?” Sansa asked, finding her voice. 

“It is if she accepts it, with your permission, Queen Sansa.” 

Sansa nodded quietly, “You’ve both always had it.” 

Jeyne dissolved into a puddle of tears, throwing her arms around him and sobbing, nodding and grasping at him. Gawen swung her in a circle, pressing his face into her hair. 

“We’ll have a stunning ceremony,” Sansa announced, letting their infectious glee settle over her. 

“Sansa, we don’t need much. I’d marry him in the Godswood with only you there to see,” Jeyne shook her head. 

“But I want to,” Sansa said, “We’ll have the ceremony in the Godswood, but we should celebrate the good things that happen here. This counts. We need to fill these halls with happy memories again.” 

“You are too kind and fair,” Gawen insisted, “But I feel as your subjects we can’t very well say no?” 

Sansa gave a clever grin, “You are quite right, Ser Gawen. I’ll let you two be for the rest of the day. I’ll go and start planning anyway,” Sansa said, realizing that they kept furtively looking at each other, obviously wanting a moment alone but too kind to say anything, “I have letters to read anyway,” She added, looking at the hefty stack in her hands. One from Ser Brienne, seemingly a few from Pod, was that even one from Bran? 

She made her exit to her rooms swiftly. She threw the letters on the table and collapsed back onto her bed. She felt an acute pain, a low aching feeling right in her chest. 

She was being silly, and she might have important things to read in the letters! It gave her a moment to take her mind away from the entirety of what had just occurred, as happy as she might feel she was, there was something colder that lingered beneath. 

She read them in a particular order; King Bran (and she was surprised to see a hint of his humanness lurking beneath), Ser Brienne, Yara, Gendry, and Pod for last. She always saved his last, wanting to give herself as much time to soak in his words, reading every one of them. She hadn’t truly been offended by his comment about love and his letter about Arya leaving, but after writing him back she feared she had offended him! 

His letter was nothing and everything. As she climbed into her bed with it, bringing it away from her desk, she realized what she was doing. And then, secondly, she realized how much she wished he were here, how terribly she missed him, and how his letters were the only thing that kept her sane it seemed. 

Lastly, she thought about Gendry’s letter.

Arya had been his person. And, Gods, she did understand. If Arya was Gendry, was Podrick not in some way hers? 

This thought caused her to sit upright. Such an admission metally was startling. Deep down, Sansa wondered if- despite her determination she would not fall in love- she just might be? 

Sansa tried to find the right words to reply to Podrick’s letter tonight and found she could find nothing quite yet to say to him. 

She feared if she began to write a single thing, it would all come rushing out.

  
  


_ XXXV _

 

The impending arrival of King Bran was the castle twitter, though it was still a good few moons out. Bran, who seemed to be making a more marked effort to write (and this confused Sansa like nothing else, after she had to re-learn that her brother was no longer her brother, in a sense) was very pleased to hear about Jeyne and Gawen. Sansa had originally planned their wedding for a few months out, until she realized it would coincide with Bran’s time here. Her options were either to have a quicker ceremony or drag it out until he left. 

Bran, however, requested it to happen in his presence. He’d known Jeyne as a young boy and he’d known the Glovers for a long time. It was a ceremony he would be pleased to see.

Well, he didn’t quite say pleased, but Sansa wondered secretly if perhaps he was. 

Sansa insisted on doing many thing herself when it came to planning the wedding. In between making sure the castle was ready for King Bran’s arrival, she threw herself into Jeyne’s wedding. She knew why that was. If she let herself linger for too long, she may write some things to Podrick, some recent realizations, that she wasn’t sure were right to say over a raven. Or right for her to say at all.

Sansa was feeling all kings of very improper things for Ser Podrick. 

And oh, was she torn! 

She knew that she should be looking within Winterfell or the North for a suitor, if she were considering suitors at all. 

She hadn’t asked to start to fall for Podrick, Gods no! It had just happened and that in itself was the most peculiar thing.

But then she thought of Jeyne, who didn’t think she’d find love either, and she was so deliriously gleeful every time Sansa saw her of late. She thought of Arya, who wished for Sansa to find joy herself. She thought of her brothers, who had lost their love and would have probably done anything to be able to have that feeling when it existed, because nothing in life was permanent. 

So, her dilemma persisted. 

It did give the people something else to focus on; Bran and Jeyne and the wedding. The whispers about succession died down with such a hush that Sansa sort of forgot about that part of their issue. 

“Queen Sansa, I’ve been thinking,” Meera said one afternoon while Sansa answered some boring correspondences with some of the vassal lords of The North. 

“I hope you do that often,” Sansa said, which caused Meera to grin. 

“Well, I do, but I’ve been thinking about something specific.” Meera closed the book she was reading, a History of Game Hunting in Northern Lands, to drum her fingers on the cover, “About the situation of heirs.”

“Oh,” Sansa frowned, “I didn’t know it’s been ailing you.” 

“Ailing would be a poor choice of words,” Meera said, “But it has been on my mind. Now, instead of bothering you, Wyllis just bothers me.” She said with a hint of aggravation. Before Sansa could say that she would be having stern words with Wyllis at once, Meera continued, “And, I think I have worked out a sort of plan.” 

Sansa, who was no closer to a solution to this issue herself, motioned for her to continue. 

“The biggest issue is that no one knows what would happen currently if you were to pass. It worries me too. We’re such a new, young country that to lose you would be devastating. I do not think that the Six Kingdoms would capitalize on our tragedy, but one cannot be sure,” Meera chewed her lip, “And the North likes our Starks. That’s undeniable. So, we write a last will of succession. It can be re-written at any time, but we have witnesses so that everyone in your council knows of your plans. It starts by you naming your successor, in case you were to die tomorrow.” 

Sansa nodded carefully, “I would probably choose you. A hand is only one step away from ruling anyway. And yes, you are not a Stark, but I would trust you to know how to move this kingdom in the right direction.” 

Meera nodded, “I had assumed as much and I would be willing to take on the mantle. Now, looking hopefully to the future, in which you live a very long life and marry no one ever and rule by yourself.” She said, “There are two paths, and I say we write them both down, for neither is certain.” 

“Path one?” 

“How sure are you of Arya’s love for Lord Baratheon?” Meera asked. 

“Unquestionably. I don’t think Arya could ever love another as she loves him.” Sansa said. 

“And therefore, she will return.” 

“I have faith in that, yes. Unless she is killed, which we must consider. I would think that Arya would do anything to return to him. Why?” 

“Well, she comes back, and they get married. Or they don’t, but likely- if they’re as in love as they seem to believe- they’ll have heirs because they’ll be…” Meera coughed, chuckling. Sansa rolled her eyes, getting Meera’s meaning, “I know your sister still loves the North, and you. I offer this proposition to them; they have their first child, who will become a Lord or Lady of Storm’s End. We foster their second one here and plan to have them go to their maiden name of Stark and take over Winterfell after your death.” 

“I would be agreeable to that,” Sansa said, trying to imagine a little girl who looked like Arya or perhaps a little boy with Gendry’s smile. 

“But,” Meera sighed, “If Arya does return, that’s three years. And to have two children, if she had them in succession, at the least is five years before the child is even born. Probably ten to twelve, at best case, before they’d come here. It’s a long time.” 

“Indeed.” Sansa hummed, “Path two?” 

“You adopt a child into your name. There are many war orphans in Winterfell and you could simply choose one you see promise within and formally have them become a Stark. One could claim that the blood of the Starks run through all of the North, and a son or a daughter is a child either way. Then, you could specifically find the child that would best be a ruler. And do something kind for those who lost their parents.” 

“It’s something to think about,” Sansa said, who felt a small panic grip her, “We wouldn’t have to do that...today?” 

“No,” Meera said, leaning back, “In a few years. Maybe in three, if Arya never returns or she does not wish to agree to the first path. I think we have time. I hope we have time.” Meera corrected. 

Sansa gave a soft shrug, “They are better ideas than I had. They’ll simply have to do.” 


	8. Chapter 8

_ XXXVI _

 

Three moons after Arya’s departure, Winterfell was bustling with activity. Sansa stood on her balcony, eyes turned to the dip in the land, waiting with anxiety to see King Bran’s flags on the horizon. More than that, she could not hide her growing excitement to see Podrick riding beside him, looking handsome and knightly on his horse, coming back to her. Just as he’d promised. 

She could not spend all day at her windows, though, like a love-sick fool. Knowing that the procession would arrive before nightfall, Sansa firmly closed her doors behind her, deciding that she should check on the many different things that were happening. 

There was the Welcome Meal to taste, the maid to check with to assure that the bedrooms would be prepared, the baths with salts and herbs that would be drawn, the stables that they had hay for the horses, the firewood stocked higher than usual for those that were unused to the chill of the North, the hallways swept clean...she had her fingers in everything happening and needed to make sure each was acceptable. 

Yes, it was the King of the Six Kingdoms coming, but more than that...it was her brother Bran. She wanted him to feel at home and welcome more so than his now lofty title, not like he was a visiting dignitary but like he was relaxing somewhere comfortable. 

She should find Meera and perhaps Jeyne and split the work into three. Give Jeyne the kitchens and the maids, have Meera yell at some men (one of her favorite past times) and have Sansa sign off on anything that seemed troubling. 

She found Jeyne easy enough. She was already lingering near the kitchens, having been on the same wave-length as Sansa, and checking up on the Welcome Dinner. Sansa informed her of her now listed duties and asked where she might find her hand. 

“Meera? Haven’t seen her since we broke fast this morning,” Jeyne realized, tapping her chin, “She’s not in her rooms? No? Hmm,” She crossed her arms, “I couldn’t say.” 

“I’ll look for her,” Sansa said, “Perhaps she’s already predicted some of her jobs, as you had.” 

But Meera was not in the stables, nor the courtyard, nor at the guard’s station. Gawen, who was having his men shine the metal until it gleamed, was not much help either. 

Sansa had a feeling she’d find Meera sometime during the day so she decided to continue with her own tasks. Task one; go and check on the bedrooms. 

If it were any other visiting Lord, she would place them in their own wing with their men. This was Bran, though, who had a room from his childhood here. She had flopped back and forth what the right thing to do was. Did she give him a bigger room, befitting of his new title? Or did she allow him back into the room he’d taken residence in even after returning to Winterfell? 

In the end, with the hope to eke out the Bran she’d once known more and more, she’d been unable to assign his old bedroom to anyone else. The rooms of her siblings lay dormant, and that was respected. The only bedroom she’d given up was her previous one, and currently, Meera lived there. She wasn’t sure she could stomach her childhood bedroom being used by anyone else. She wondered if her father had the same reservations when he took over Winterfell, but then again, men were so much less nostalgic. 

She’d had her ladies and workers clean Bran’s room as well as start a fire, plus put new furs on the bed. Or she’d asked them to. She decided to check this first. 

Opening the door, Sansa was surprised to find another figure already present.

“Oh! Meera!” She breathed in relief, “There you are. I-,” 

She broke off, jaw hanging open. 

Meera was a hearty, strong person. She showed emotion but rarely was it anything that would show her to be more vulnerable than she was. She was like Arya in that way, Sansa thought, and she knew the pair would have been friends, had they had the chance to properly meet. 

So, to see Meera sitting on Bran’s bed, crying softly, just about confused Sansa more than anything she’d seen in a great while. 

“Oh, my Queen, I-,” Meera said, standing and trying desperately to wipe her tears. Her face was blotchy and red, obvious that this hadn’t been a small moment, but that she’d been overcome with these emotions for a bit now. 

“Gods, are you okay?” Sansa asked, rushing over to her, “Did something happen? Are you hurt?” 

“No, no,” Meera sniffled, “I just had a moment of weakness. I’m fine. What did you need of me?” She tried to dismiss her previous state, but Sansa was not going to be so quick. 

“Meera, what’s wrong?” 

“It’s nothing.” 

“Would you let me drop it if you found me crying like that?” Sansa questioned, and at Meera’s wince, she continued, “So what sort of Queen would I be if I did not pay attention to the pain of my subjects, and more than that, one of my most trusted friends?” 

Meera sank back onto Bran’s bed, running her fingers through the fur with a pained look on her face.

“I guess it just came over me that I’d be seeing him tonight. It was easy to pretend like I was never going to have to again, that each day was just another day where he was gone and I could exist just knowing that.” She whispered. Though a thousand questions were on the tip of Sansa’s tongue, she stayed silent, watching Meera with encouraging eyes. 

Meera turned to look at Sansa, her smile watery and her face wet from her tears, “I hate to have emotions overwhelm me like this, but I suppose I’ve been shoving them down for a very long time now. They were bound to resurface. I...I was quite in love with your brother, Sansa. And he dismissed me. And that hurt. It broke my heart. If I’m honest though, I never...got over him.” She screwed her eyes shut, cheeks reddening as she revealed a deep secret, “And he’s going to come back but it’s not quite Bran and I thought I was past this infatuation, but Gods, I don’t that’s possible.” 

Sansa’s first reaction was shock. Not shocked that Meera had held such tender affections for Bran, but the idea that Bran could elicit those feelings among anyone. To her, he’d always be perpetually young and wide-eyed, even if he now ran six kingdoms. And then, later, he’d been so stoic and unfeeling that to like him romantically seemed like adoring a piece of stone. To think of him liking anyone or anyone liking him in that passionate way was startling, and she momentarily had to dismiss the initial thought of a puppy-dog childlike crush. It was easy to see Arya as an adult woman since they were friends now and Arya was in no way shy about her womanliness, but Bran? 

But either way, after she overcame that momentary surprise, she thought about her poor friend Meera. While it might be alien for her to imagine Meera liking him so, she was no stranger to unrequited feelings or disappointment in what you hoped for most. It was no light thing, nothing so easily ignored in favor of more sensible emotions.

The heart, a strange thing, wanted what it wanted with little convincing otherwise. 

“Oh, Meera!” Sansa said, reaching for her, “I had no idea.” 

“I don’t think he did either,” Meera said with dark, pained laughter, “Or he did and it makes it worse.” 

The truth hung between them. Bran, as an almighty mage, could very likely have seen this. It made Sansa red with a fury that this is how he chose to leave things. She was angry at his treatment of Meera before, but she was engulfed now! 

“Do you want me to slap him? He may be a king but he’s still my idiot little brother. I’ll gladly do it.” Sansa offered, glad to see Meera choke back a laugh. 

“No, oh, that will just make things worse! He’s also in a wheelchair, so…” 

“You think I’m above hurting him because he’s lame? Quite the opposite. I’m sure he can’t retaliate, then,” She said, truly only half-joking, “But, honestly, how would you like me to proceed?” In moments like this, her own feelings were inconsequential. It was more what Meera wished.

Meera gazed upon Bran’s room, biting her lip in careful thought. 

“Proceed as though I have not told you this. It will do nothing good to act upon this,” Meera said, “This is not about my feelings for Bran, and it’s better if they go away anyway.” 

“If you are sure-,” 

“I am,” Meera quickly nodded, “Quite.” 

There was a pause when Sansa was about to speak until the door opened. 

“My lady Queen, your brother’s flags have been spotted on the horizo-Lady Reed? Are you alright?” 

“She’s fine, Archibald,” Sansa interjected, “Just a stubbed toe. Please, gather my Queen’s Guard to meet them.” 

As Archibald shut the door, Sansa turned to Meera. She was blushed slightly red.

“Are you ready, Meera?” 

“I can’t very well ignore him, can I?” Meera sighed, “Yes, let’s go.” 

 

_ XXXVII _

 

The entirety of Winterfell was in great spirits with Bran’s arrival. There was the moment, of course, when the two parties examined each other with a sense of apprehension, standing strictly on their respective sides, eyeing the others up. Sansa spotted Tyrion, Ser Brienne, and Podrick in the mixture and it kept most of her wills to stop her from rushing up. Especially to Podrick, who she most fervently wanted to hold again. 

Meera beside her made no motion of her heartache toward Bran, instead stood firmly. Gawen was on Sansa’s other side and the entirety of the castle had seemed to pour out behind Queen Sansa, waiting to see what she would do. 

Bran and Sansa stood face to face, two of the remaining Stark wolves, very much different from the people they were at the start of it all. 

But, in some ways, very much the same. 

“My baby brother has finally come home,” Sansa finally spoke a smile curling across her lips. 

“Your baby brother is the King of the Six Kingdoms, Queen Sansa,” Tyrion reminded with a snort. 

“And yet, the fact has not changed,” She said, taking the first steps to welcome him, “And I’m just glad he is back.” 

Sansa was done with the political subterfuge she often had to deal with. She could worry about all of that tomorrow. Tonight, she wanted nothing more than to hug one of her siblings.

And so she did. 

After that, the tension broke like waves crashing against the shore. People who had elected to follow Bran into King’s Landing greeted family members, old friends reunited, new relationships were formed. Sansa had Meera handle most of the pointing of locations, but Sansa took her brother.

Ser Brienne followed obediently, but Sansa could tell with each passing step she grew more and more relaxed. By the time they had reached Bran’s old room, she was grinning ear to ear. 

“My old space,” Bran said, letting Brienne wheel him in, “You can’t help but be nostalgic, can you?” 

“Would you prefer to renounce your name and sleep away from the family halls?” Sansa questioned. 

“No, this will do,” He said, then after an awkward moment, “Thank you.” 

“You don’t have to thank me. It’s my job.” 

“As Queen?” 

“As your sister,” Sansa whispered, hoping the more she reminded him of this the better that glimmer of the old Bran would start to shine through. 

This Bran, this new king Bran, only nodded, eyes fuzzing for a moment, “If you both would leave me. I wish to rest before dinner.” 

“Of course, your highness,” Brienne said, bowing. 

Once outside of Bran’s door, Sansa turned and flung her arms around Ser Brienne. She looked at Brienne as a wise older sister, or sometimes perhaps even a replacement mother. It ached her to have her so far away, but she didn’t trust anyone else to protect Bran. 

“I am glad to be back too, Queen Sansa,” Brienne said, sighing. 

“It’s just Sansa. I won’t hear of it,” Sansa commanded. Brienne only laughed. 

“I suppose if I can ask people to call me Ser, I can accept this sentencing,” Brienne said, embracing her for just a moment more before breaking away, “I need to go and check to make sure the other Kignsguard are settling in. It is truly good to see you again, Sansa.” 

Sansa smiled warmly, a giddiness in her stomach that could not be quelled. 

If she were not a Queen, not someone with a mountain of things to attend to, she would have turned around and searched for Podrick immediately. As it was, she did have a thousand and one things to do before dinner, so despite how much it seemed her dress skirts were being tugged one way, she held her heart close and promised herself she would find him soon. 

However, they did not get a chance alone until after the feast. All during the meal, Sansa tried not to glance at him at every moment, but it was difficult. For moons, they’d only communicated via letters, but she had clung to every word on the parchment. Now that her own affections were realized, it was growing harder for her to contain it. She was almost sure of his feelings toward her. He too was making a great effort to not catch her gaze whenever he had the chance. 

All through dinner, Sansa’s mind whirled with ideas of what she’d say to him. She felt like she had so many things to tell him, but now that they were nearly face-to-face, it all seemed to dissolve away. 

And then, even after dinner, it’s not as though she was able to catch him right after. She had to make sure that no one needed anything, and if they did they knew who to properly contact. She had to keep the tangled web of which servants were helping which floors and which guests so she could put those people in connection, and on the odd request, procure something strange. Mostly, it was for more furs. Most of the convoy with King Bran was not used to the winters, even without heavy snow, and were chilled in their rooms.

But, Sansa had predicted this. It still meant she was ferrying blankets for most of the night or asking the kitchens to brew more warm mead, or sending maids to stoke fires. In all, it was hours before she even had the chance to consider she was mildly frustrated about her lack of free time.   
Then, she laughed. Free time? She was a Queen. 

There was a knock at her door. Sansa yawned, straightening her back, prepared to delegate another task. She wondered if it was Lady Hightower. She had asked for three extra furs already, and still was shivering at the last request. 

She opened the door to find Ser Podrick. He gave Sansa a wry smile. It took a moment for her brain to catch up. 

“Pod,” She whispered, eyebrows knitting. 

“I hear that we ask requests through you, m’Lady,” Podrick said, still wearing all his armor and his sword tucked at his side. 

“Oh?” She asked, minor disappointment tinging her voice, “Yes, well, what is it that you- or someone else- is needing?” 

“It’s me,” Podrick said, “That is, erm, I’m the one who’s needing something…” 

“Yes?” Sanas asked, mind whirling. Had she forgotten to put something in his room? Was he still hungry or thirsty? 

Podrick licked his lips, looking around, “Where’s Gawen?” 

“On an errand for...that man, the one Bran brought with the beard,” Sansa fished helplessly, her mind feeling sort of like mush, “Just, on a small mission.” 

“I’d better remain here until he gets back. Someone has to protect the Queen,” Podrick said seriously, his face devoid of any japes. 

“You needed something, though, you said?” Sansa asked, trying to figure it out. 

“Yes, of course.” Podrick said, his confidence turning shy as he bit his lip, shrugging, “I needed a moment alone with the Queen. If she isn’t too busy, that is?” 

“I don’t see anyone else asking for my assistance right now,” Sansa said, starting to understand his cheekiness. 

“I’ll try to make it short then,” He said. 

Mentally, she thought that she’d rather it be long, but she wasn’t going to complain. Podrick, as a senior part of the Kingsguard, likely had places to be tonight as well. They were both stealing just a snippet of time, plucked from the universe, to be here together right now. 

Sansa grasped onto his fingers, pulling him close. He reached for her, leaning more into her room than out into the hall. He tasted exactly as she recalled; like a mixture of sweet wine, the woods, and waves from a faraway beach. 

She knew that this was precarious. Her room was tucked well into the castle, yes, but any of her maids or guards could walk by and see. Despite this knowledge pounding in the back of her brain, and about how improper this all was, Sansa could not seem to pull herself away for even a second. 

It was Podrick who finally did, though it was obvious he did not wish to stop either. Sansa gave a soft, quiet smile, one of the gentlest she’d given in a long time to anyone. She touched her lips, her mind replaying the moment already over and over. She wanted to memorize his flushed cheeks and mussed hair and the light in his eyes, that beautiful light. 

“Did you get what you needed?” Sansa asked. 

“No,” Podrick replied, his tone a low whisper, “However, we don’t have time to remedy that now.” As he spoke, Sansa heard the familiar footfall pattern of Gawen. 

“Far be it from I to let any of King Bran’s convoy feel unsatisfied,” Sansa replied back, “We’ll have to finish later.” 

Gawen turned the corner, wiping off his hands from the snow on his armor, “Ser Podrick! Your nose looks better.” 

Sansa had nearly forgotten the last time the pair had met they’d come to blows. 

“And your lip as well,” Podrick replied, raising an eyebrow, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Queen Sansa.” 

Gawen watched him leave. He placed his hand on his sword, turning to Sansa. 

“I pray to the spirits you know what you’re doing,” Was all he said. 

“Of course I do,” Sansa said primly, not willing to go back into her room until Podrick had completely vanished from sight. She bit her tongue to keep the truth from speaking, the one that she had no idea, but she was making it up as she went along. 

Better for everyone to think Sansa knew what she was doing at all times. 

She closed her door with an audible click of the wood locking. Once alone, she turned, collapsing onto her bed. 

She fell asleep with an unbanishable smile on her lips. 

 

_ XXXVIII _

 

“And we can supply lumber if that’s- Bran?” Sansa looked up to see Bran completely out of focus, staring out the windows of the solar with a blank look on his face. Currently, it was only the pair of them. She was pretty sure that Hallard and one of Bran’s guards were both stationed outside right now, but there was no danger between the siblings inside. 

“Bran,” Sansa said more firmly, and when he did not respond, “Bran!” She said, shoving his shoulder.

He startled, blinking up at Sansa with a near-sheepish look on his face. It was just there for the briefest of moments, and she may have missed it if she wasn’t so used to just seeing nothing that any change to his expression at all was significant. 

“You know,” Sansa said, pushing aside the work, “You were impossible to teach as a child too. Always wanting to have an adventure somewhere else. Mind wandering miles away. Now that you can see into the present, past, and future it’s just…” She trailed off, chuckling.

“Mostly only the present,” Bran corrected, settling his hand on his chin to rest, “Sometimes the past, rarely the future. Only in snips, and I don’t often realize what it is until it’s passed.” 

Sansa blinked. She had seen a great many things; dragons, the living dead, and her brother coming back to life. Still, she was having issues with the whole new identity of Bran and his magical powers. 

“Seems like a full mind,” She mumbled. 

“In many ways,” Bran agreed but did not seem bothered or happy by it. It was just a statement of being. 

Sansa gnawed on her lip, trying to think of what to say next. She had never felt so at odds talking to her brother. It reminded her of the older days when she used to struggle to find things to talk about with Jon. How things had shifted, she considered. That is if she were able to talk to him anymore. 

“I was looking for Arya.” Bran admitted after a long moment, “It’s hard to be here and not feel like she…”

“Should be here too?” Sansa supplied and then shook her head, “She’d never be happy. She’d be with Gendry if she were in the Kingdoms. Is she alive?” 

“Far as I can tell. It’s harder to see her so far out,” Bran said, “And she often switches her course without any telling. Impossible to predict what she’s doing next to find her location.” 

Sansa laughed out loud, “That’s just her, though, isn’t it?” 

She nearly stumbled off her chair when Bran’s lips moved and she realized he was grinning, “Quite. Jon is fine, by the way. He’s arguably better off now than before. I know you wonder.” 

Sansa looked down, thinking of all the unanswered ravens she’d sent his direction, “I still miss him. I miss…” She broke off. She missed the Bran she remembered, but he was long gone. It was useless to wish for something so far from her reach. 

But why shouldn’t she say it? And certainly, wouldn’t Bran already know? 

“I miss you,” She finally decided to settle on, staring at her brother with a soft look, “It seems like we never quite got our footing right with each other, but I can still miss the you that you were.” She placed her hands in her lap, “Which, I do realize, you’ve been given great power. It’s rather callous of me to wish away such things, but I suppose I cannot help it at times.” 

“These powers,” Bran said slowly, “They have rather turned me away from emotions. It’s something I struggle with, even now,” He said after a long moment, “If emotions mix with these skills, it’s easier for me to become a less than honorable king. And we’ve had too many of those.” 

“So you just don’t feel at all?” Sansa finished, trying to figure him out.

“In a sense, I suppose yes.” 

She thought of all her emotions she’d been feeling lately. She thought of the loneliness of becoming Queen without any of her family near her, she thought of the heartache of Podrick so far away, she thought of the constant worry she held at all times. It would be so much easier to feel none of those things, to be able to rule without second-guessing. However, when she thought of her laughter with Meera and Jeyne, her joy at Podrick’s letters, and her affections for Jon and Arya and still even Bran, she thought it would be an awful trade-off. She would gladly take those bitter notes for the sweet ones, she decided. 

“I imagine that people find you intimidating to talk to,” Sansa said, a question that had been itching in her mind, “Since you can just see everything going on. There’s little room for secrets with you.” 

“It’s been good in some ways. I can see anything, but not all the time. It would be exhausting to be searching every second of every day. It has made my men more honest,” Bran said in agreement, his fingers tapping against the parchment, “But then there are moments…” he scowled, trying to reign in his thoughts, “People are people. They are not gifted with the same foresight as I am and people make mistakes or they have emotions and they do stupid things. I suppose it’s inconsequential if this chef cheats on his wife or if that servant steals a silver serving spoon. It’s an imperfect world so I guess...sometimes I just hope for the best, that goodness will prevail.” He looked at Sansa with a curious expression, “Is that...unwise?” 

Sansa was momentarily shocked, “You’re asking me?” 

“I would like you to hear your thoughts upon it, yes.” 

Sansa thought about it. It was no different in her position too. There were big, great issues that sometimes made the day-to-day things seem like a trifle. And there were some people she knew that if she let them, they’d take the worse option. And yet…

“No one can truly grow if you’re always watching over their shoulder. They need to be motivated by more than the fear of being caught. They need to truly want to be better people. I think it’s a compassionate move, honest.” 

Bran nodded, humming, but gave no other sort of answer. 

“How often do you...look into me?” Sansa questioned, unable to stop herself. She’d been throwing that question back all day, for months, actually. Ever since he mentioned looking at Arya or Jon. 

“Less than the others. Jon and Arya are beyond what we know to be safe,” Bran said, assuring her slightly, “And frankly...there are certain things I’d just rather not see,” He added, face growing slightly pink. 

“What do you-,” 

“I give the same courtesy of privacy to Ser Podrick.” 

It was Sansa’s time to turn as red as her hair. She looked down sharply, breath heaving and hitching. She wasn’t sure how to respond to this, or what Bran would think. Podrick was, in many ways, betraying his trust by associating on such a personal level with Sansa. He’d be a fool to let it slide. And still…

“He is a good man. I know that he is deeply loyal to both of us, in different ways,” Bran said, and she could have sworn she saw a hint of ‘and thank the Gods for that’ on his face for just a second, “And there isn’t much else. I suppose I could call him out for his disloyalty, but,” Bran shifted, and for a second his whole mask dropped off his face and Sansa saw a look of uncomfortable awkwardness and a wry smile, “As I said, there are things that no one...not even a king, needs to witness of their family.” 

“I’m gratified to hear you’re not looking into my intimate encounters,” Sansa said, unsure how else to answer. Bran raised an eyebrow, such a comical and human look that it really shocked her.

“Yes, you and me both.” 

 

_ XXXIX _

 

The winter snow was a comfort to Sansa. She used to long for the summer’s of King’s Landing, but having survived the equivalent of hellfire there, she now wanted nothing more than to exist upon a white landscape for the rest of her days.

She did not chill like she once did and found herself at ease and perfectly comfortable outside. Even when others shivered, Sansa enjoyed walks in the frost. She liked to see her breath in front of her, she liked the look of snowflakes on her eyelashes, she liked the crunch it made under her boots. 

Bran did too.

You could take a Stark out of the winter, but you could never take the thirst for it out of them. 

She could tell, even as someone wheeled him out in passing between the halls, that he yearned for it in the same way. 

So she took it upon herself to give him his homeland back.

It was a small convoy, only Bran, Podrick, Gawen, Aedlayne, Jeyne, and Sansa. Ser Brienne was feeling a tad under the weather, so she was taking a day off in bed, though she nearly had to be restrained down. Meera was doing other things, though it was for the best. If Bran noted her absence, he did not say much in the way of it. 

When Sansa told him what they’d been doing that day, he’d been a bit confused.

“Walking in the winter? Sansa, you may have forgotten, but I’m-,” 

“In a chair? Hardly. However, I know you miss it, Bran. The summers in King’s Landing are scorching, even I recall that.” Sansa said in her no-nonsense tone, “So you’ll dress warmly.” 

“Even as a King and you’re still bossing me around.” 

“It is a sister thing,” Sansa said, kissing his cheeks.

She dressed in some of her thickest furs and met the group outside the gates. She had Jeyne arrange a picnic for all of them, some warm soups and bread straight from the oven, plus some mead to keep all of their insides warm. She thought Bran would like this.

As she passed, she caught Podrick’s eye and blushed, looking down. What was it about him that turned her into a simpering girl with a child-like crush? She felt hardly one and ten again, back when she thought only of Joffrey and what their beautiful children may look like. She may be older now, but the same fuzzy feelings rubbed along her insides, making her lose her thought for a moment. 

It was dangerous to have him around, she thought with a small smile. She might walk off a cliff if she were too preoccupied with him. 

Bran, despite his hesitancy to the day, seemed to brighten once they were outside. While Sansa did the lion’s share of talking to start, it wasn't long before Bran was adding in his own stories to fill the silence; talking about how he explored these parts as a child. He reminisced about the days he wanted to be a knight and how he would run around with sticks, waiting for Rickon to be old enough to play with him.

His voice faltered for a second at the mention of their youngest brother, until he was warmly talking about Rickon and the games they used to play with their toy horses. 

Sansa took them to a hill that looked out across the frozen tundra. While others may find the vast expanse of white snow to be dull, Sansa found nothing more beautiful in the world. The way that the sun-dappled and dazzled the white sheet, making it glimmer, was more precious to her than a thousand stones. And it seemed so effortless, so untouched. That it could turn into anything, be anything. The fact that no one had walked through this way made it feel frozen in time, as though it could exist like this forever or change the next day. 

Podrick helped Bran onto the blanket as Gawen pulled out the food. Aedlayne helped everyone settle themselves. Soon, everyone was eating and enjoying themselves. The cold hardly touched Sansa’s cheeks, for she was warm by the good meal and the company she had. 

As everyone finished, Sansa stood and walked to the side of the hill, sighing in contempt. There were not nearly enough of these days around anymore; days when she was free to enjoy this moment with her brother and her friends and Podrick, whatever he was considered to be. More than a friend, some small part of her reminded her.

She was in love with him, if she got the courage to tell him. 

The sound of something being thrown piqued her senses, moments before something landed solidly on the back of her head. She spun, touching her crown but only came back with fluffy snow.

She looked behind her, where a pile of packed snow lay cracked in half.   
She leaned down to touch it when another ball nearly hit her head, had she not been crouching.

She stood abruptly, and heard Aedlayne giggling. She had every sense to reprimand the young foolish girl, until she realized why her maid was laughing.

It was Bran who had a snow-ball in his hand. 

“Bran!” She cried, “What are you, five?” 

“Perhaps,” he said, grinning more openly than she could recall in years, and threw a third one at her. She managed to dodge this, knowing it was coming.

She huffed, leaning down and balling a fist of snow. 

“You wouldn’t attack me, a cripple, would you?” Bran asked, frowning. 

“Considering you began it…” Sansa teased, “Podrick,” She said, her smile reaching her voice, “You might want to protect your King.” 

“Huh?” Podrick asked, confused, until Sansa threw a snowball right at his chest. He stared at her, uncomprehending. 

“You’ve never had a snowball fight, have you?” Sansa surmised. 

“No?” 

“Well, it’s quite like a regular play-fight. But with snow.” Sansa said, balling another round of ammunition.

“How do you win?” Podrick questioned. 

Gawen was standing, and shrugged, “The first one who has to go inside because their fingers are cold, I suppose,” He said, coming to stand by Sansa. Jeyne stood by Bran. 

“Jeyne! You betray me!” Sansa teased. 

“It’s not a fair fight otherwise. Not with Bran who can hardly move- no offense- and Podrick who’s never played.” She packed snow in her hands too, “Plus, then I get to do this.” 

She threw with all her might and her snowball hit her intended right in the face.

That’s all it really took for snowballs to begin to fly with a fury. Bran was a sneaky little one despite his appearance, managing to trip Gawen twice and Sansa once. Sansa was not as skilled at throwing, which she let Gawen mostly do, but was quite good at packing it together. Podrick soon enough caught on, and it was soon hard to tell where the snow was flying from.

In the end, as they walked back to Winterfell, all were laughing and gasping for air. They were soaked the bone and looked as though they had rolled down a hill, but their happiness was infectious. 

At the doors, Sansa hugged Bran, “That was fun.” 

“Yes, it’s been a while since I’ve heard that word,” He said with a thoughtful tone, “I’ll see you at dinner, then. Podrick?” 

Podrick straightened, ready to attend to his lord. 

“Have one of your men assist me. You need to change too.” 

Podrick gave a short laugh, the coldest of any of them, shivering in his spot. 

“Of course, your highness.” He turned to Sansa, “My Q-Sansa…” He said. 

Sansa thought of Podrick in the snow, in her homeland’s snow, his black hair standing out across the forest and smiled. She would keep that picture in her head for ages.

 

_ XL _

 

The castle had heard about their daily adventures by the time Sansa changed and re-did her hair and came down to dinner. There was a lightness in everyone, a sense of childlike glee that these halls had not had for quite some time. Sansa recalled hating snow-fights as a child. She wished she had enjoyed them more in the time they had existed. 

She hoped the children that would grow up in these halls would find just as much mischievousness as Bran got up to. 

Dinner was a jolly affair, mostly with people sharing childhood stories. It was strange to hear some of the grizzled old men talk about the games they played in their youth, but everyone came from somewhere. It was enjoyable too, to recall that no one began evil or good. They simply were...innocent, until things happened upon them. 

As the meal winded down, people remained in the hall, drinking and coalescing around the fire. Sansa was pulled away to sign off on this or that and by the time she returned, Podrick was surrounded by a group of girls.

She tried to keep her feelings in check, though it was hard when every girl there was staring at Podrick like they wished they were alone with him right now. 

“Oh, Ser Podrick, another, won’t you?” One of the girls breathed as though he’d taken away all of her air. 

“It’s getting late-,” 

“Please! You must grace us with another,” Another more aggressive girl pleaded. 

Podrick licked his lips. It was such a small gesture, but Sansa stumbled over a chair leg. Gods, everything he did made her feel funny. It was ridiculous! However, that gesture was so...Podrick, so cute, that she couldn’t help but be charmed by it. It was not a confident movement, but one that showed his slight anxiety and unsureness. Despite how obviously popular he was with all of the girls, he sure as heck wasn’t seeing it within himself.

If only he knew how many girls fawned over him…

Or better he not, Sansa thought selfishly. He might find fancy with one of them and she felt very bad about that. The idea of Podrick with someone else practically choked her, such a present and unrelenting idea that she felt small and helpless. 

She should not be so obsessive over a boy, no matter how kind or how gentle or soft he was. No matter that he looked at her with such tenderness or that when he spoke to her, it was clear he cared. 

“I suppose I could...one more…” She heard Podrick agree, “Uhm, a preference?” 

“A favorite of yours,” The first girl said, setting her arms on the table and holding her head in her palms. She leaned forward in anticipation.

Podrick began to sing.

Sansa was stopped dead.

She’d heard from a few people that Podrick had a fair voice, one he gifted rarely, but until hearing it now...she could never have imagined...it was heavenly. 

She was completely enraptured by the tone of it. The slight quiver as he sang, the emotion behind it, the crispness as he vocalized. It was not just Sansa that he had under his spell; every girl (and most men) paused what they were doing to listen. 

She was just so taken in by his voice and every hitch and rise to it that it took her a moment to realize that there were words to it. She blinked, turning her head.

She knew this song; Jenny of Oldstones. She had not heard it in many years. It was one that an old maid liked to sing to her and Arya when they were very young, but since that maid died, she hadn’t heard it sung. It had been something sad and melancholy to her then, but hearing Podrick sing it pulled out new emotions she couldn’t comprehend. They flashed by her; longing, love, wanting, apology, heartfeltness, loneliness, togetherness...it was incredible that he was able to sing all of that.

“And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave…”

Podrick’s eyes flashed to meet hers, for just a second. She had thought that he hadn’t realized she was there, but now she realized he had been extremely cognizant of her presence the entire time. 

He breathed in, his last line much quieter than any of the rest of it, and more spoken than sung, “And he never wanted to leave.” 

If anyone noticed his flub, they didn’t notice. Though, as he blinked at Sansa, not dropping his held gaze immediately, she felt as though she understood it. It had been purposeful, hopeful. Hopeful that she may hear and understand.

Understand that, despite all these girls that were squealing and pulling his attention away again, leaving Sansa close to tears of joy or sorrow (she couldn’t be sure), that song had been for her.

Just for her.


End file.
